<1 


THE 


INFANT’S  ANNUAL ; 


A MO 


OR, 


THER’S  OFFERING. 


THE  MOWBRAY  FAMILY. 

“ Mamma,”  said  little  Annette  to  her  mother,  as  she 
was  sitting  one  ^evening  at  the  window  of  Mrs.  Casey’s 
beautiful  cottage  which  was  all  shaded  with  pretty  roses, 
and  jessamines,  and  honey  suckles,  “ How  much  I should 
like  to  have  a nide  little  garden,  between  my  brother  and 
myself.  You  know  George  could  dig  it  for  me,  and  papa 
and  you,  could  give  me  flowers  and  seeds  to  put  in  it,  and 
it  would  be  so  delightful,  to  have  it  growing  up  under  our 
own  eye  and  care.”  “ Yes,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs.  Mowbray, 
“ It  will  give  me  great  pleasure,  to  assist  either  George  or 
you,  in  any  thing  that  will  improve  you ; but  you  must 

1 


2 THE  infant’s  annual  ; OR, 

be  very  attentive  to  it  and  not  allow  weeds  and  rubbish  to 
overgrow  it. 

Next  day,  sure  enough,  mamma  allowed  Little  Annette  a 
pretty  spot  of  ground,  and  it  was  pleasant  t3  see  with  what 
diligence,  her  brother  George,  and  his  companion  Henry 
Mason,  undertook  to  cultivate  it. 


GEORGE  AND  HENRY  DIGGING  ANNETTE’S  GARDEN. 


In  a short  time  there  was  a great  variety  of  seeds  put 
into  it,  and  the  ground  all  nicely  raised  in  beds ; these 
Bill  the  gardener,  bordered  all  around  with  boxwood,  and 
planted  in  them  many  fine  plants  the  little  brother  and 
sister  could  not  have  procured.  Their  papa  also  gave 
them  throe  handsome  flower  pots,  one  for  Henry  Mason, 
one  for  George,  and  one  for  Annette,  which  made  it  have 
quite  a grand  appearance ; it  was  then  delightful  to  see 


A mother’s  offering. 


3 


xr 

with  what  diligence  little  Annette  attended  to  her  gar- 
den, and  how  anxiously  both-  she  and  George  strove  to 
rear  their  flowers,  and  in  a short  time,  they  had  the  satis- 
faction to  see  their  garden  in  full  bloom,  and  their  pots, 
each  with  a beautiful  flower  in  it.  This  little  boy  and 
girl  took  all  these  pains  with  their  garden,  not  as  many 
other  children  would  have  done,  from  mere  amusement, 
or  desire  of  novelty,  but  from  a wish  to  acquire  informa- 
tion ; for  their  good  mother  had  promised  them,  when 
their  flowers  were  grown,  to  sit  down  and  tell  them  the 
history  of  every  plant. 


ANNETTE  WATERING  HER  FLOWERS, 


It  was  therefore  quite  pleasant  to  see  how  good  little 
Annette  would  go  out  every  morning,  when  she  had  got 


4 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


her  lessons,  with  her  watering  pot  and  water,  to  sprinkle 
her  flowers. 

In  a very  few  months,  her  garden  was  in  full  bloom, 
and  her  papa  and  mamma  took  pleasure  in  sitting  down 
beside  it  and  in  admiring  it.  It  was  one  of  these  times, 
on  a beautiful  summer  evening,  when  her  mamma  and 
papa,  were  enjoying  the  coolness  of  the  air,  that  Martha 
asked  them  to  tell  her  the  histories  of  the  different  flow- 
ers they  had  promised,  as  soon  as  her  garden  should  be 
grown. 

“ My  dear,”  said  her  father,  taking  her  on  his  knee, 
while  George  sat  on  a bank  at  his  feet,  “ I will  first  tell 
you  a very  curious  story,  about  that  piece  of  bread  you 
and  your  brother  are  eating.  Do  you  know  that  that  piece 
of  sweet  nourishing  bread  you  eat  with  so  much  relish, 
was  once  buried  in  the  ground?”  “Dear  me,”  said  Annette, 
“ Oh  papa,  how  was  that  ? why  a little  while  ago  1 saw 
mamma  cut  it  off  the  loaf,  in  the  cupboard  ” “ Be  patient 

my  darlings,”  said  Mr.  Mowbray,  “ and  I will  tell  you  how  it 
was.  You  see  that  field  opposite  now  covered  with  beau- 
tiful wheat — well,  in  the  winter  time,  that  field  lay  all 
bare  and  rough,  as  that  ground  there,  which  William  the 
gardener  has  just  dug.  When  Tom  the  servant,  took  two 


A MOTHER’S  OFFERING. 


5 


horses,  and  harnessed  them  to  that  great  iron  instrument 
you  saw  in  the  barn  the  other  day,  which  is  called  a 
plough.  Well,  Tom  harnessed  the  horses  to  that  plough, 
and  drove  them  into  that  field,  and  when  the  horses  drew 
the  plough,  the  sharp  end  entered  the  ground  and  turned  it 
all  over.  “ Oh,  indeed,  pa !”  said  George,  “ I saw  him 
do  it.59 


TOM  PLOUGHING  THE  FIELD. 


Well  my  dear,  when  it  was  all  ploughed  over,  he  put 
the  same  horses  to  another  curious  instrument,  called  a 
harrow,  full  of  long  iron  spikes,  and  tore  all  the  lumps  to 
pieces,  then  he  took  an  immense  number  of  little  grains  of 
wheat  and  scattered  them  all  over  the  field,  and  then  buri- 
ed them  up.”  “ Oh  my,  pa !”  said  the  little  children,  “ and 
were  they  not  all  lost  ?”  “ No,  my  dears  ; after  laying  in 


6 


THE  INFANTS  ANNUAL;  OR 


TOM  SOWING  THE  WHEAT. 


the  ground  some  time,  they  sprouted  up  in  little  green 
stalks ; and  by  and  by  grew  very  tall  and  strong,  and 
every  stalk  contained  a great  many  grains  of  wheat.” 
“ Oh  dear,  papa !”  said  the  little  boy  and  girl,  “ and  did 
they  all  grow  out  of  one  of  those  little  grains?”  “Yes, 
my  children  ” “ Well  papa,  and  what  did  they  do  next  ?” 


THE  MEN  SHEARING  THE  WHEAT. 

“ Why,  when  they  were  quite  ripe  and  hard,  a great  many 


A mother’s  offering. 


7 


men  with  sharp  crooked  knives,  called  shearing  hooks, 
cat  them  all  down,  and  this  they  called  shearing ; they 
were  then  all  tied  up  into  long  bundles,  called  sheaves 


A SHEAF  OF  WHEAT. 

and  they  were  drawn  home  in  carts,  and  a merry  day  it  was : 
plenty  of  bread  and  cheese  to  eat,  and  cider  to  drink  and 
every  body  seemed  happy  and  delighted.”  “ Oh,  indeed 
pa!  I remember  that  day  very  well,”  said  the  litile  boy  “I 


DRAWING  HOME  THE  GRAIN. 


got  leave  from  school,  and  Johnny  Mason  and  Charles 
Murphy,  played  hoop  along  the  wood.” 


8 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


“ When  it  is  all  put  into  the  barn,  the  sheaves  are  ta- 
ken one  by  one  and  laid  upon  the  ground,  and  two  men 
beat  out  all  the  grain,  which  is  called  thrashing;  and  when 


THRASHING  THE  WHEAT. 

all  is  sifted  and  cleaned,  they  make  forty  or  fifty  times  as 
much  as  was  put  into  the  ground  at  first.  It  is  next  brought 
to  a mill,  and  put  between  two  great  stones,  which  are 
kept  constantly  turning  round,  and  thus  ground  into  fine 


flour.  It  is  then  brought  to  the  Bakers  and  made  into 
loaves.”  “ Indeed,  papa ! I never  could  have  thought 


MILL  TO  GRIND  THE  WHEAT« 


A mother’s  offering. 


9 


there  could  have  been  so  much  trouble  in  preparing  a 
simple  loaf.”  “ Well,  my  dear  children,”  said  Mr.  Mow- 
bray, “it  must  make  you  careful  never  to  waste  any  thing, 
not  even  a crumb  of  bread,  when  it  is  not  only  so  good  in 
itself,  but  when  it  requires  so  long  a time  and  goes  through 
so  many  hands  before  it  can  be  made  fit  for  use.” 

“Now  Father,”  said  little  George,  “that  is  quite  a de- 
lightful story,  and  Mamma  you  must  tell  us  another  to  : 
morrow,  about  some  other  plant,  as  good.”  The  mother 
and  father  kissed  both  the  children,  and  they  went  home 
quite  pleased  with  the  instruction  they  had  received. 

Now  George  and  Annette,  were  very  good  little  chil- 
dren, and  did  all  their  papa  and  mamma  desired  them- 
They  were  not  like  many  other  little  boys  and  girls,  bold 


GEORGE  AND  ANNETTE  PRAYING 


and  self-willed,  crying  and  putting  the  whole  house  in  dis- 


10 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


order  with  their  bad  temper.  Every  morning  and  even- 
ing, they  knelt  down  together,  and  prayed  to  God  to  bless 
them  and  forgive  them,  as  every  little  child  ought  to  do 
Every  day  they  both  said  all  their  lessons  very  cheer- 
fully, and  if  they  had  them  well,  they  were  allowed  to  go 
and  play  in  the  garden.  Both  Annette  and  George  had  lit- 
tle companions,  nearly  their  own  age,  who  used  to  come 
every  day  and  play  with  them.  Mr.  Mowbray  had  a very 
fine  large  dog  called  Carlo,  who  was  quite  fond  of  chil- 
dren, and  was  never  so  pleased  as  when  he  was  drawing 
them  about  in  a little  car  made  for  the  purpose.  It  was 
indeed  delightful  to  see  how  nice  Carlo  would  draw  lit- 


CARLO  DRAWING  ANNETTE  IN  HER  CARRIAGE. 

tie  Annette  about  in  her  carriage,  always  ready  to  stop  at 
the  word  of  command,  and  trot,  or  walk,  just  as  she  liked. 


A MOTHER’S  OFFERING. 


11 


George  likewise  had  a little  friend  whom  I mentioned 
before,  called  Henry  Mason ; Henry  and  he,  were  very 
fond  of  going  out  every  day  to  a pretty  summerhouse  they 
had  made  themselves  in  the  garden,  and  there  reading 
some  nice  book  of  stories  which  they  had  won  for  their 
good  conduct  at  school. 


GEORGE  AND  HENRY  ON  THE  SUMMER  SEAT. 

Well,  one  fine  summer  evening,  all  these  little  Masters 
and  Misses,  assembled  in  Annette’s  garden,  to  hear  Mrs. 
Mowbray  tell  them  another  story,  the  good  lady  gave 
them  all  a nice  piece  of  cake,  and  they  were  as  happy  as 
children  could  be. 

“My  dear  children,”  said  Mrs.  Mowbray,  “the  first 


12 


THE  infant’s  annual  ; OR, 


j 

thing  I shall  tell  you  of,  shall  be  this  fine  rose,  which 
looks  so  beautiful  and  smells  so  sweet.  It  is  the  prettiest 
of  all  flowers,  and  is  called  their  queen,  and  is  every  where 
so  wrell  liked,  that  when  people  wish  to  say  any  thing  is 
very  good  and  fair,  they  say  it  is  like  the  rose. 

“ There  are  a great  many  different  kinds  of  roses — the 
white  rose,  the  red  rose,  the:  moss  rose,  with  some 
others.  Long,  long  ago,  there  was  a great  war  in  Eng- 
land, and  the  two  armies  took  one  a white,  and  the  other  a 
red  rose  for  their  emblem.”  “ Indeed,”  said  George,  “ I 
remember  very  well  reading  about  them,  they  were  called 
the  wars  of  ‘ York  and  Lancaster.’  ” “ Yes,  my  dear,”  said 

Mrs.  Mowbray,  “ and  it  is  believed  that  more  than  one  hun- 
dred thousand  men  were  killed  while  they  lasted.”  But  I 
am  going  to  tell  you  a story  of  a good  little  girl,  whose  name 
w'as  Rose  Bradley,  and  who  was  so  very  pretty,  and  her 
temper  so  sweet,  that  she  was  called  by  no  other  name  than 
the  Red  Rose  of  Mosston.  She  lived  in  a handsome  little 
cottage,  about  two  miles  from  the  town,  the  walls  of  which 
were  all  covered  with  beautiful  climbing  flowers,  and  you 
can  hardly  imagine  a finer  child  than  she  was.  She  was  not 
much  over  eight  or  nine  years  of  age,  and  had  curling  silky 
hair,  large  blue  eyes,  and  a skin  as  white  as  snow.  Yet 


A mother’s  offering. 


13 


though  she  was  so  very  beautiful,  she  was  not  vain  or 
proud,  but  quite  good  natured  and  agreeable,  so  that  every 
body  was  fond  of  her.  This  little  girl,  was  taught  by  her 
father  to  read,  every  fine  night,  sitting  on  a chair  at  his  cot- 
tage door ; and  so  diligent  and  attentive  was  she  to  her  les- 
sons, that  she  soon  knew  more  than  many  a girl  who  was 
twice  as  old. 


LITTLE  ROSE  TAUGHT  BY  HER  FATHER  TO  READ. 


“ She  was  soon  so  good  a scholar,  that  when  she  went 
to  school,  she  was  appointed  to  teach  other  girls,  many  of 
them  much  older,  but  who  did  not  know  so  much  as  her 


14 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


self.  Then  she  was  so  kind,  and  showed  so  much  know- 
ledge, that  they  all  loved  her  in  their  hearts,  and  used  to  call 
her  their  little  mistress.  When  out  of  school,  Rose  used 
to  visit  all  the  poor  sick  people  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
buy  them  any  thing  they  would  require,  to  make  them  more 
comfortable  ; and  whatever  medicine  would  be  ordered  for 
them,  by  the  doctor.  At  church  no  person  was  so  atten- 
tive as  little  Rose,  and  she  felt  more  delight  in  loving  and 
serving  God,  than  any  one  else  would  have  done,  in  all  the 
romps  and  plays  in  the  world. 

“ Well,  one  time  Rose  went  out  with  her  father,  in  a boat 
to  have  a sail,  and  a great  many  more  along  with  them. 


ROSE  SAILING. 

“ The  day  was  very  fine,  and  the  water  smooth,  and  all 
went  on  delightfully,  until  a sudden  squall  came  on,  and  awful 


A mother’s  offering. 


15 


to  be  told,  the  boat  upset.  Poor  little  Rose  was  dashed  into 
the  water,  and  would  have  been  drowned  but  for  her  father, 
who  being  a good  swimmer,  used  every  exertion  to  save 
his  darling  child.  She  was  put  into  another  boat  and  brought 
home,  where  the  fright  and  the  wetting,  threw  her  into  a vio- 
lent fever. 

“ It  would  have  done  any  one’s  heart  good,  to  see  how 
patiently  this  dear  child  suffered  in  her  severe  complaint. 
All  the  little  children  around  came  to  her,  and  she  talked 
so  sweetly  to  them  about  Heaven,  and  God,  that  no  one 
could  keep  from  crying.  It  was  a pity  to  see  how  her  fine 
rosy  cheeks  grew  wan  and  pale,  and  her  whole  body  once 
so  fair,  became  sickly  and  thin.  One  day  when  her  mam- 
ma and  three  of  her  little  comrades  were  around  her  bed  all 
weeping  for  the  situation  she  was  in,  she  said,  ‘ Oh  my  dear, 
dear  mamma,  don’t  weep  for  me,  I know  I am  going  to  die, 
but  I am  going  to  a plaoe  where  I will  be  far  happier.  I had 
a dream  but  a little  while  ago,  and  I thought  I wTas  wandering 
in  the  pretty  walk  near  the  house,  when  an  angel  with 
golden  wings  came  and  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  kissed 
me,  and  said,  “ Rose,  you  shall  live  with  me  forever;”  and  I 
heard  the  sound  of  harps,  and  of  delightful  music.  And  Oh 
mamma,  I do  think  I will  soonbe  with  the  angel.’  ‘ My  dear 


16 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


child,  I hope  God  designs  to  leave  you  a little  longer  with 
me.5  ‘ Oh  mamma,  I shall  go  before  you,  to  that  delightful 
land,  of  which  you  so  often  told  me — where  the  sun  always 
shines,  and  the  flowers  never  fade.  Oh,  dear  mamma,  kiss 
me,  I am  going  now,  I hear  the  harps,  I see  the  angels, 
mamma,  mamma,’  and  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  soon  after 
gently  died.” 


ROSE  DYING. 


The  children  all  listened  with  breathless  attention,  while 
Mrs.  Mowbray  was  telling  them  this  story,  and  some  of 


A mother’s  offering. 


17 


them  were  seen  to  wipe  their  eyes,  so  much  were  they  af- 
fected by  the  narrative.  At  last  Annette  said,  “ Mamma, 
when  poor  little  Rose  was  dead,  what  did  they  do  with 
her  ?”  “ Oh,  indeed,  every  person  felt  then  as  though  they 

had  lost  their  own  child;  when  her  little  pale  corpse  was 
dressed  in  white  and  laid  in  her  coffin,  every  person  who 
knew  her,  came  to  see  her.  The  morning  she  was  buried, 
all  the  children  of  the  school,  in  white  dresses  and  carry- 
ing baskets  of  flowers  in  their  hands,  walked  at  her  funeral. 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  ROSE. 

Old  men  and  young,  carried  her  coffin,  and  the  pall  was  held 
by  four  little  girls,  about  her  own  age.  When  she  was  laid 


18 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


in  the  grave,  and  the  cold  earth  put  over  her,  every  one 
cried  for  the  death  of  so  good  a child. 

“My  dear  children,”  continued  Mrs.  Mo\\b  ay,  “youmust 
all  strive,  and  follow  the  good  example  of  little  Rose,  and 
every  body  will  love  you  while  living  and  regret  you  when 
dead.”  The  boys  and  girls,  were  all  exceedingly  moved  by 
the  story — all  promised  that  they  would  do  every  thing  in 
their  power,  to  be  like  that  dear  little  child,  whose  history 
they  had  just  heard. 


rose’s  grave/ 


Soon  after,  a good  many  masters  and  misses  who  had 
come  to  see  Annette  and  George,  were  assembled  in  Mrs. 
Mowbray’s  parlour — when  Annette  said  to  her  mamma, 
“ Oh  ma,  what  a sorrowful  story  that  is  I was  reading  last 
night,  of  the  children  in  the  wood — where  did  it  happen 
mamma.”  “ My  dear,”  said  her  mother,  “ that  happened 
many  years  ago.  There  are  hardly  men  wicked  enough 


A mother’s  offering. 


19 


now  to  do  such  a cruel  action — though  it  sometimes  hap- 
pens that  children  are  deserted  by  their  bad  parents.  If 
you  are  all  good  now,  I will  tell  you  a story  about  some 
poor  little  children,  who  were  left  upon  a desolate  island 
by  their  father.”  “Oh  mamma  do  let  us  hear,”  “ Oh  Mrs. 
Mowbray  do  tell  us,”  cried  every  tongue  immediately.  “Be 
patient,  I will  tell  it  to  you,  but  I will  not  do  it  any  faster  for 
your  being  so  very  anxious  about  it !”  This  gentle  reproof 
made  them  all  quiet,  and  Mrs.  Mowbray  began,  “In  the 
autumn  of  1823,  a man  was  descending  the  Ohio  river, 
with  three  small  children  in  a canoe.  He  had  lost  his  wife, 
and  in  the  emigrating  spirit  of  our  people,  was  transport- 
ing his  all  to  a new  country,  where  he  might  again  begin 
the  world.  Arriving  toward  evening  in  a small  island,  he 
landed  them  for  the  purpose  of  encamping  there  for  the 
night.  After  remaining  a short  time,  he  determined  to  visit 
the  opposite  shore,  for  the  purpose,  probably,  of  purchasing 
provisions  : and  telling  his  children  that  he  would  soon 
return  to  them,  he  paddled  off,  leaving  them  alone  on  the 
island. 

“Unfortunately  he  met  on  the  shore  with  some  loose  com- 
pany, who  invited  him  to  drink.  He  became  intoxicated, 
and  in  attempting  to  return  to  the  island  in  the  night,  was 


20 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL ; OR, 


THE  LITTLE  CHILDREN  DESERTED  BY  THEIR  FATHER. 


drowned.  The  canoe  floated  away,  and  no  one  knew  of 
the  catastrophe  until  the  following  day. 

The  poor  deserted  children,  in  the  meanwhile,  wander- 
ed about  the  uninhabited  island,  straining  their  little  eyes  to 
get  a glimpse  of  their  father.  Night  came  on,  and  they  had 
no  fire  nor  food — no  bed  to  rest  upon,  no  parent  to  watch 
over  them.  The  weather  was  extremely  cold,  and  the 
eldest  child,  though  but  eight  years  of  age,  remembered  to 
have  heard,  that  persons  who  slept  in  the  cold,  were  some- 
times chilled  to  death.  She  continued  therefore,  to  wander 
about ; and  when  the  younger  children  were  worn  out  with 


A mother’s  offering. 


21 


fatigue  and  drowsiness,  and  ready  to  drop  into  slumber,  she 
kept  them  awake  with  amusing  or  alarming  stories.  At 
length  nature  could  hold  out  no  longer,  and  the  little  ones, 
chilled  and  aching  with  cold,  threw  themselves  on  the 
ground.  Then  the  sister  sat  down,  and  spreading  out  her 
garments  as  wide  as  possible,  drew  them  to  her  lap,  and 
endeavoured  to  impart  the  warmth  of  her  own  bosom,  as 
they  slept  sweetly  on  her  arms. 

Morning  came,  and  the  desolate  children  sat  on  the  shore 
weeping  bitterly.  At  length  they  were  filled  with  joy  by 


THE  INDIANS  ON  THE  DESOLATE  ISLAND. 

the  sight  of  a canoe  approaching  the  island.  But  they 


22 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


soon  discovered  that  it  was  filled  with  Indians  : and  their 
delight  changed  to  terror,  and  they  fled  into  the  woods. 
Believing  that  the  savages  had  murdered  their  father,  and 
were  now  come  to  seek  for  them,  they  crouched  under  the 
hushes,  hiding  in  breathless  fear,  like  a brood  of  young 
partridges. 

“ The  Indians,  having  kindled  a fire,  sat  down  around  it, 
and  began  to  cook  their  morning  meal;  and  the  eldest 
child,  as  she  peeped  out  from  her  hiding  place,  began  to 
think  that  they  had  not  killed  their  father.  She  reflected 
too,  that  they  must  inevitably  starve,  if  left  on  this  lone 
islhnd,  while  on  the  other  hand,  there  was  a possibility  of 
being  kindly  treated  by  the  Indians.  The  cries  too  of  her 
brother  and  sister,  who  hadfceen  begging  piteously  for  fond, 
had  pierced  her  heart,  and  awakened  all  hpr  energy.  She 
told  the  little  ones,  over  whose  feeble  minds  her  fine  spirit 
had  acquired  an  absolute  sway,  to  get  up  and  go  with  her'; 
— then  taking  a hand  of  each,  she  fearlessly  led  them  to 
the  Indian  camp  fire.  Fortunately  the  savages  understood 
our  language,  and  when  the  little  girl  had  explained  to  them& 
what  had  occurred,  theyv received  the  deserted  children 
kindly,  and  conducted  them  to  the  nearest  of  our  towns; 


A mother’s  offering. 


23 


where  they  were  kept  by  some  benevolent  people,  until 
their  own  relations  claimed  them.” 

“ Oh,  mamma,”  said  Annette,  “ what  good  Indians  they 
were  to  save  the  poor  little  children.”  “ Yes  my  dear,” 
said  her  mother,  “ there  are  few  savages  who  would  not  be 
touched  by  the  sight  of  such  innocence  in  distress.”  “ In- 
deed,” said  George,  “ I have  often  heard  of  savages,  who 
have  been  kinder  than  many  a white  person.”  “ True,” 
said  Mrs.  Mowbray,  “ they  are  often  kind  and  generous, 
and  have  learned  a great  many  of  their  bad  habits  from 
those  who  pretend  to  know  better.” 


24 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL;  OR, 


A MOTHER’S  EVENING  HYMN. 

I. 

Oh,  holy  Father ! hear  a mother’s  prayer, 

And  take  her  darling  treasure  to  thy  care  ! 

Oh ! great  and  glorious  ! from  thy  throne  on  high, 
Look  on  my  child  with  thine  all-blessing  eye. 

II. 

Oh,  Holy  Saviour ! mercifully  see 
My  little  child — whom  I devote  to  thee  ! 

And  let  thy  meek  and  heavenly  Spirit  fill 
Her  wayward  heart,  and  mould  it  to  Thy  will. 

III. 

Oh,  Holy  Spirit ! come  from  Heaven  above, 

Thou  last,  best  gift  of  all-redeeming  love  ! 

Oh  lighten,  guide,  instil  each  virtue  mild, 

And  shed  thv  influence  on  my  sleeping  child. 

IV. 

Oh  ! Great  Almighty  Godhead  ! shelter  still 
My  precious  innocent  from  ev’ry  ill ! 

On  earth  thy  little  handmaid  may  she  be, 

And  live  each  day  as  for  eternity  ! 


A mother’s  offering. 


25 


POOR  BESSY. 

“ Who  was  poor  Bessy,  mamma  ?”  said  little  Annette 
Mowbray,  as  she  sat  one  day  on  her  little  stool  beside  her 
mamma,  hemming  a silk  handkerchief  for  her  papa — “ Who 
was  poor  Bessy,  mamma?  Was  she  a little  girl  ?”  “What 
makes  you  ask  that  question,  my  love  ?”  said  her  mother. 
“ Because,  mamma,  the  other  day  I heard  you  say  some- 
thing to  papa  about  ‘ Poor  Bessy,’  and  I saw  your  eyes 
filled  with  tears.”  “Well,  my  dear  child,  when  you  see 
any  one’s  eyes  filled  with  tears  in  speaking  on  any  subject, 
a little  girl  like  you  should  be  very  cautious  how  you  ask 
questions  on  that  subject — because  you  may  quite  uninten- 
tionally give  great  pain  by  your  inquisitiveness.”  “ I am 
sorry  I gave  you  any  pain,  my  dear  mamma ; I will  try  to 
remember  again,  and  not  do  the  same  thing,”  said  Annette,, 
blushing. 

Her  mamma  bent  down  and  kissed  her  little  cheek. — * 
“You  gave  me  no  pain,  my  dear  child;  but  I wished  to 
warn  you,  lest  at  any  time  you  might  do  so  to  others,  by 
indulging  in  an  unamiable  curiosity  about  what  you  hear 
said.  “ Poor  Bessy,  my  dear  Annette,  was  only  a dog.” 


26 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


“ A dog,  mamma ! and  did  you  weep  when  you  only 
named  her  ?”  “ Yes,  Annette,  I wept,  and  am  not  ashamed 
to  do  so — for  poor  Bessy  saved  your  life — but  for  her  I 
would  not  now  have  had  you,  my  darling,  seated  at  my 
side.”  “ How,  mamma,  saved  my  life  ! — and  how  did  I 
never  hear  of  it  ?”  Because  you  were  too  young  to  know 
what  poor  Bessy  had  done  for  you,  or  to  remember  it — 
and  you  have  hitherto  been  so  heedless,  and  so  thoughtless, 
that  I would  not  tell  you  till  I saw  it  was  likely  to  make  a 
fitting  impression  on  your  mind.” 

“ But,  dear  mamma,  I am  trying  to  be  more  steady  and 
more  obedient  now — am  I not  ?”  “ Yes,  my  dear  child,  be- 
cause you  have  been  more  earnest  and  anxious  in  your  pray- 
ers to  your  heavenly  Father,  for  His  assistance  in  perform- 
ing your  little  duties,  and  restraining  your  inclination  to 
what  is  wrong  and  sinful.  No  one  ever  makes  such  a 
prayer  to  him  in  vain.  Do  you  not  feel  this,  my  dear  little 
Annette ?”  “Yes,  mamma,  I do  feel  it.  I used  to  do  things 
oftner  from  forgetfulness  than  from  intention  to  be  bad — 
and  then  I was  sorry — but  since  I have  prayed  in  my  very 
heart  to  God  for  his  blessing,  I have  not  forgotten  near  so 
much — something,  I don’t  know  what,  just  puts  me  in 
mind  when  I am  going  to  be  careless  or  bad.”  Mrs.  Mow- 


(' 

A mother’s  offering.  27 

bray  clasped  her  little  darling  to  her  bosom  with  feelings 
which  only  a mother  can  know.  Then  putting  her  down, 
she  said,  “ I will  now,  my  love,  tell  you  the  story  of  poor 
Bessy. 

“ About  seven  years  ago,  when  you  were  about  a year 
old,  your  papa  was  having  an  addition  built  to  this  house, 
and  when  the  joiners  were  at  work,  I often  went  into  the 
new  part  of  the  house  to  see  how  they  came  on,  and  to 
give  them  directions.”  “ What  are  joiners,  mamma 
“ Persons  who  do  the  wood-work  of.  houses,  such  as  the 
doors,  window-sashes,  floors,  and  all  that.  On  these  oc- 
casions I often  observed,  and  sometimes  patted  the  head 
of  a large  brown  terrier  dog,  which  I supposed  belonged 
to  some  of  the  workmen.  Once  I had  occasion  to  go  in 
after  they  were  gone  for  the  night,  and  I found  this  dog 
nestling  among  some  shavings  in  one  of  the  rooms.  I or- 
dered it  to  rise  and  go  home — it  rose  very  reluctantly,  and 
I spoke  angrily  to  it,  and  bid  it  go  home  immediately — it 
walked  slowly  out  of  the  room,  and  I followed  with  the 
light  that  I might  see  it  really  went  down  stairs,  and  not 
into  any  of  the  other  rooms.  It  was  the  middle  of  winter 
— the  night  was  dreadfully  cold  and  stormy — the  poor  dog 
moved  to  the  outer  door,  and  there  it  stood  still  and  look- 


28 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


ed  back  at  me,  with  such  an  imploring  look,  as  if  it  had 
said,  ‘ Oh  take  pity  on  me — don’t  turn  me  out  to  the  storm 
— I have  no  house  to  go  to  !’ 

“ I could  not  resist  the  look — I said  to  it  kindly,  c poor 
thing — do  you  wish  so  much  to  stay — perhaps  you  will 
not  be  made  very  welcome  at  home,  and  you  are  doing  no 
harm  here — you  may  stay the  poor  animal  seemed  per 
fectly  to  understand  me,  for  it  looked  up  so  gladly  in  my 
face,  licked  my  hand,  and  instantly  whisked  away  back  to 
the  shaving  bed  I had  roused  it  from.  Next  day  I said 
to  the  workmen  that  I wished  they  would  not  leave 
their  dog  when  they  went  away  at  night. 

“ ‘ Our  dog,  ma’am  !’  they  said,  (we  thought  it  was  your 
dog,  it  belongs  to  none  of  us.’  “ And  where  had  it  come 
from,  mamma?”  said  Annette.  “That  we  never  found 
out,  my  love  ; but  there  it  was,  and  it  would  not  go  away 
— it  showed  no  wish  to  come  into  the  house,  but  lay  in 
the  area  or  the  green,  and  watched  night  and  day  like  an 
old  attached  servant.  The  only  dog  you  had  ever  seen 
was  called  Bess,  and  when  you  saw  the  poor  stranger,  you 
said  always  ‘ Beffy,  Beffy,’  and  so  it  got  the  name  you 
gave  it.  About  a year  after  the  time  it  first  came  about 
the  house,  I v/as  one  day  going  out  to  walk  with  you 


Annette  saved. from tlie mad  dogtl^ypoorbessis. 


A mother’s  offering. 


29 


and  stopped  outside  the  door  to  speak  to  the  gardener ; 
meanwhile,  you  let  go  my  hand  and  trotted  away  down  the 
lane,  quite  proud  that  mamma  could  not  catch  you.  When 
I looked  round,  you  had  got  eight  or  ten  yards  from  me, 
and  just  at  that  moment  I heard  a great  shouting  and  scream- 
ing of  people;  a very  large  fierce  looking  dog  rushed 
round  the  corner,  and  made  straight  for  you — my  uncon- 
scious innocent ! — and  I heard  the  shouts  of  ‘ a mad  dog,  a 
mad  dog !’  Oh  my  child,  my  child,  never  till  you  are  a 
mother  can  you  conceive  my  feelings  at  that  moment ! I 
flew  towards  you — but  oh,  I was  still  three  or  four  yards 
from  you,  and  the  infuriated  animal  was  quite  close,  not  as 
I thought  a foot  from  you — and  your  destruction  seemed 
certain,  when  poor  Bessy,  whom  I had  not  before  observed 
darted  between  you  and  the  destroyer,  and  seized  him  by 
the  throat — I caught  you  in  my  arms — and  I remember  no- 
thing more  till  I found  myself  in  your  papa’s  arms  in  the 
house.”  “ And  Bessy,  mamma?”  “ Ah,  my  love,  poor,  poor 
Bessy ! — she  died  to  save  your  life  !”  “ How,  mamma  ?” 

“ Because,  my  dear  love,  dogs  bitten  by  one  which  is  mad 
always  take  the  same  dreadful  distemper.  Poor  Bessy 
was  sadly  torn  in  the  struggle  of  holding  so  large  and  strong 
a dog — and,  do  not  ask  any  more,  my  love,  poor  Bessy  died 


30 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


that  night !”  Annette  sobbed  on  her  mother’s  bosom — 
when  she  could  speak,  she  said,  “ Oh  mamma,  mamma, 
whenever  I would  be  bad — remind  me  of  poor  Bessy — 
she  was  but  a,  dog , and  I am  a human  being — and  yet  I am 
not  half  so  good  as  she.  Oh  mamma,  mamma,  I will 
never,  never  forget  what  I owe  poor  Bessy — how  can  I be 
grateful  enough  to  her  !”  Mrs.  Mowbray  pressed  the  little 
girl  closely  to  her  bosom.  “ Yes,  my  love,  be  grateful  to 
poor  Bessy ; never,  never,  forget  what  she  did  for  you. 
But  in  remembering  the  gift, — oh  my  child,  my  child,  for- 
get not  the  giver.  Never  for  one  moment  allow  the  daz- 
zle of  the  event,  in  any  case,  to  sweep  out  of  your  mind 
the  grateful  recollection  of  that  Almighty  Father  who 
causes  every  event,  and  who  so  careth  for  us,  and  maketh 
all  things  work  together  for  good  unto  those  who  love  his 
name  and  keep  his  commandments, — who  is  c about  our 
path  and  about  our  bed,’  who  sees  even  our  most  secret 
thoughts  afar  off.  That  God  ‘ in  whom  we  live  and  move 
and  have  our  being.’  ” 


A mother’s  offering. 


31 


THE  FIRST  LIE. 

“ The  first  lie  /”■ — I hear  some  little  girl  or  boy  exclaim 
as  they  read  the  title  of  this  tale — “ What  is  the  first  lie  ? 
What  does  it  mean,  mamma  ?”  Ah,  my  dear  little  readers  ! 
How  happy  are  you,  if  you  have  never  told  your  first  lie  ! 
And  how  happy  would  I be,  if  I could  save  you  from  ever  tel- 
ling it ! For  oh,  from  what  an  endless  and  cruel  succession 
of  suffering,  and  sorrow,  and  sin,  I would  save  you  ! Nobody 
can  ever  tell  one  lie,  for  though  they  may  think,  and  poor 
little  foolish  children  like  you  often  do  think,  that  they  will 
never,  never  tell  another,  but  just  this  one — yet,  when  that 
one , or  this  one , is  told,  they  will  find  that  two,  or  three,  or 
four,  or  six,  perhaps  a dozen,  are  told  to  keep  up  the  credit 
of  the  first — and  so  they  end  in  being  utterly  wicked,  and 
what  always  follows  that , utterly  unhappy  and  miserable. 
Listen  very  attentively  to  what  I am  going  to  tell  you,  and 
try  to  remember  it  whenever  you  feel  yourself  tempted  to 
tell  a lie. 

Charles  Annesley  was  just  nine  years  old;  he  had  a 
kind  papa  and  mamma,  who  did  all  in  their  power  to  make 
him  a good  boy — they  taught  him  to  say  his  prayers,  and 


32 


the  infant’s  annual;  OR; 


to  know  that  the  great  and  good  Being  to  whom  he  prayed, 
watches  over  all  his  creatures,  and  never  will  forsake  them 
while  they  remember  Him,  and  try  to  please  him  by  doing 
all  that  he  has  commanded  us  in  the  Bible  : and  that  when 
tempted  to  do  any  wrong  or  wicked  action,  we  should  in- 
stantly turn  our  thoughts  to  Him — cry  out  in  our  own 
hearts — “ Oh  Father  in  heaven,  save  me  from  wishing  to  do 
this  bad  tiling” — and  he  will  strengthen  us  to  resist  doing 
it.  Until  the  time  Charles  went  to  a public,  school,  he  was 
indeed  a very  good  little  boy : he  was  gentle,  obedient,  and 
fearful  of  doing  any  thing  he  had  been  told  was  bad ; but 
when  he  went  to  school,  he  heard  other  boys — bad,  wicked, 
ill  brought-up  boys,  brag  of  doing  wrong,  and  of  being  dis- 
obedient to  their  mammas, — at  first  he  was  very  much  fright- 
ened and  shocked  to  hear  their  way  of  speaking,  and  did  what 
his  mamma  had  bid  him,  turned  away  and  did  not  listen  to 
their  talk  or  make  companions  of  them.  By  degrees  how- 
ever, he  began  to  forget  his  mamma’s  orders — played  with 
these  boys,  and  though  he  did  not  do  any  thing  so  wrong  as 
they  did,  he  laughed  at  their  bad  words,  and  thought  it 
funny  when  they  boasted  they  wouldn’t  do  what  papa  or 
mamma  bid  them.  This  was  Charles’  first  fault,  and  it  was 
a great  one— it  led  to  all  the  rest. 


A mother’s  offering. 


33 


But  there  was  in  Charles’  original  character  a great  fault. 
He  was  very  proud,  and  he  could  not  bear  to  see  other 
children  have  any  thing  which  he  had  not.  His  papa 
was  far  from  being  rich,  and  could  not  give  him  money  to 
throw  away  upon  toys  or  trash  of  any  kind  : and  Charles 
was  so  silly  as  to  allow  it  to  mortify  him,  when  he  heard  the 
bad  boys  he  now  made  his  companions,  boasting  of  what 
they  had,  and  how  much  money  they  had  spent  on  this  or 
that  folly.  These  boys  soon  observed  that  Charles  was 
mortified,  and  with  a wicked,  unamiable  feeling,  they  did 
all  they  could  to  increase  it,  and  to  irritate  him  by  re- 
marking that  he  never  had  any  money  or  any  fine  play- 
things. 

Now,  little  boys  and  girls,  stop  here,  and  consider  what 
a terrible  thing  the  first  fault  is — the  first  disobedience 
to  papa  or  mamma,  when  you  are  out  of  their  sight, — you 
never  can  tell  how  far  astray  it  will  lead  you  ! Had  Charles, 
as  his  parents  desired  him,  avoided  the  company  of  these 
boys  altogether,  he  never  would  have  had  this  bad  passion 
of  envy  raised  in  his  poor  little  heart : — or  been  led  in  the 
sad  situation  I am  going  to  tell  you  about. 

One  day  as  he  was  running  home  from  school,  he  saw* 
lying  upon  the  road,  a large  red  pocket-book  with  a steel 

3 


34 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


clasp — he  lifted  it,  and  tried  to  open  it,  but  could  not  undo 
the  clasp — so  he  set  off  running  as  fast  as  he  could  to  show 
it  to  his  mamma  ; but  as  he  run,  he  saw  a gentleman  walk- 
ing before  him,  and  he  thought  to  himself,  “ perhaps  this 
gentleman  has  dropped  this  pocket-book,” — so,  putting  the 
pocket-book  out  of  sight  under  his  jacket,  he  accosted  the 
gentleman  and  asked  if  he  had  lost  any  thing  ? The  gen- 
tleman looked  at  him  quite  surprised,  and  said,  “ No,  not 
that  I know  of then  suddenly  putting  his  hand  in  his 
coat-pocket,  he  started,  and  said,  “ Indeed,  but  I have — I 
have  lost  my  pocket-book.” — “ Oh  then,”  said  Charles, 
quite  gladly, . “ I have  found  it,  see,  is  not  that  it  ?”  “ It 

is,  and  I assure  you,  my  fine  little  fellow,  you  do  not  know 
what  an  escape  I have  had ; for  had  I lost  that  pocket-book 
or  even  wanted  the  valuable  papers  it  contains,  this  after- 
noon,— I would  have  been  a most  miserable,  nay,  almost  a 
ruined  man.”  Charles  said  he  was  very  glad  indeed  he 
had  found  it, — and  was  just  going  to  run  aw^ay,  wThen  the 
gentleman  took  a guinea  out  of  his  pocket,  saying,  he  was 
sorry  he  had  no  more  loose  money  about  him,  begged  him 
to  take  that,  “ and  buy  something  pretty  with  it.” — Charles 
hesitated,  for  his  father  and  mother  had  always  told  him 
that  it  was  very  mean  to  accept  presents  of  money  from 


a mother’s  offering. 


35 


strangers,  and  had  forbid  him  to  do  so — but  the  thoughts 
of  being  able  to  buy  “ pretty  things ” overcame  his  good 
feelings,  and  with  a blushing  face  and  a trembling  hand  he 
took  the  guinea.  The  gentleman  asked  his  own  and  his 
papa’s  name,  and  went  away. 

Now  came  the  struggle  in  Charles’  mind — the  good 
spirit  in  his  heart  urged  him  to  go  at  once  to  his  papa  and 
mamma,  and  tell  them  what  had  happened ; confess  the 
fault  he  had  committed  in  taking  the  guinea  at  all,  and  con- 
sult them  how  he  should  spend  it ; — but  then  the  bad  spirit 
tempted  him  with  the  thoughts  of  all  the  delights  of  being 
able  to  show  off  his  riches,  and  his  pretty  things,  to  those 
who  had  sneered  at  him  for  his  poverty : and  at  last  the 
evil  spirit  overcame,  and  poor  foolish  Charles  determined 
to  conceal  the  guinea,  and  spend  it  secretly. 

Had  he,  when  he  felt  thus  tempted  to  be  bad,  thrown 
himself  on  his  knees,  and  begged  of  God  to  help  him 
to  do  that  which  was  right,  he  would  have  been  help- 
ed, he  would  have  been  made  strongly  to  remember 
that  God  never  fails  fearfully  to  punish  sin ; and  that 
one  sin  always  leads  to  another  and  another.  Again,  he 
would  have  been  helped  to  remember,  how  impossible 
it  wras  that  a little  boy  like  him  could  spend  so  much  mo- 


36 


THE  INFANT  S ANNUAL;  OR, 


ney  as  a guinea,  and  it  not  be  found  out  by  his  papa  and 
mamma ; and  all  the  shame  and  disgrace  and  misery  that 
would  follow.  But  Charles  did  not  pray ; and  none  of 
these  thoughts  came  into  his  head ; nothing  came  into  it 
but  the  poor,  silly,  wicked  delight  of  being  able  to  mortify 
his  companions.  He  ran  home,  ate  his  dinner  in  the  great- 
est hurry,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  sought  no  kiss 
from  his  mamma  when  he  went  in ; he  did  not  even  look 
in  her  face.  As  soon  as  he  had  swallowed  his  dinner,  he 
jumped  off  his  chair  and  rushed  out  of  the  house,  without 
waiting  for  the  kiss  and  the  blessing,  with  which  that  af- 
fectionate mother  always  sent  him  out  to  school  or  to  play. 
It  was  not  that  he  forgot  it.  No;  but  something  made 
him  feel  that  he  was  not  worthy  to  receive  it.  Wo  to  the 
little  boy ; aye,  or  to  the  grown  man,  who  rushes  on  any 
action  on  which  he  feels  he  cannot  ask  his  mother’s 
blessing ! 

Charles  ran  at  full  speed  to  a toy-shop,  at  the  door  and 
windows  of  which  he  had  often  lingered,  gazing  in  admi- 
ration at  its  many-coloured  treasures.  From  amongst 
those  he  now  selected  so  many,  and  in  such  evident  haste 
and  trepidation,  that  the  man  of  the  shop  looked  at  him 
very  much  , and  when  he  presented  the  gold  guinea  to  pay 


a mother’s  offering. 


37 


for  all  the  trash  he  had  picked  out,  he  said, — “ Pray,  little 
master,  how  did  such  a little  fellow  as  you  come  by  so 
much  money  as  this  ?”  Charles’  face  grew  quite  scarlet. 
What  was  easier  than  to  say,  “ a gentleman  gave  it  me  for 
finding  his  pocket-book  ?”  But  no ; when  once  people 
have  given  themselves  up  to  the  bad  spirit,  it  is  most  ex- 
traordinary how  foolish  are  the  things  they  do.  He  stam- 
mered and  said,  “ I found  it.”  “ You  found  it,  my  dear,” 
said  the  man ; “ then  do  you  not  know  that  it  is  not  yours 
to  spend ; it  belongs  to  the  person  who  has  lost  it,  and  you 
should  try  to  find  out  who  they  are.  I do  not  like  to  sell 
you  anything  for  money  which  is  not  honestly  your  own.” 
“ I think,”  said  Charles,  bursting  with  fury,  “ that  you  are 
a very  impertinent  man ; what  is  your  business  to  speak 
that  way  to  me  ?”  and  snatching  up  the  guinea,  he  darted 
out  of  the  shop,  and  ran  to  another,  where  the  people  gave 
him  what  he  asked  for,  and  changed  the  guinea,  without 
asking  any  questions  ; but  as  these  people  were  not  honest 
like  the  other  man,  they  cheated  him,  because  they  saw  he 
was  a little  silly  boy,  who  knew  nothing  about  money  or 
its  value ; and  Charles  was  quite  astonished  to  find  how 
few  things  he  had,  and  how  little  remained  of  his  guinea, 
which  he  had  supposed  quite  an  inexhaustible  sum ; that 


38 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


he  might  buy,  and  buy,  and  buy  with,  before  it  could  be 
done.  He  felt  that  the  people  were  cheating  him,  but  he 
did  not  know  what  to  do.  He  was  frightened  to  say  any 
thing,  lest  they  too  should  ask  where  he  got  the  guinea. 

Angry,  discontented,  and  unhappy,  he  lifted  up  his  pur- 
chases to  come  away,  when  a new  difficulty  came  in- 
to his  mind.  If  he  met  his  papa,  or  mamma,  or  any  of 
the  servants,  when  he  was  going  along  loaded  with  these 
things,  what  would  he  say?  After  thinking  a little,  he 
said  to  the  people,  that  he  would  leave  some  of  his  things, 
and  call  for  them  again.  So,  stuffing  the  balls,  and  the 
top,  and  the  spinning  jack  into  his  pockets,  and  taking  the 
battledore  and  shuttlecock  in  his  hand,  he  walked  away. 
When  he  came  opposite  to  the  town  clock,  he  looked  up, 
and  saw,  "with  a dreadful  start,  that  it  was  only  ten  min- 
utes from  five.  The  school  had  been  in  nearly  an  hour. 
He  had  never  in  his  life  played  truant — his  parents  had 
ever  warned  him  against  it  as  a great  sin — he  felt,  that 
having  done  so  that  afternoon,  exposed  him  almost  to  cer- 
tain detection  about  the  guinea.  A feeling  of  perfect 
wretchedness,  such  as  he  had  never,  never,  before  felt, 
rushed  through  his  heart — he  burst  into  tears  ; and  as  he 
hung  despairingly  by  the  rails  of  the  house  he  was  pass- 


A mother’s  offering. 


39 


ing,  he  wished  he  had  never  seen  the  guinea.  “ What 
shall  I do?”  said  he  to  himself ; “ Shall  I go  home  and 
tell  mamma  all  about  it?  But  there  was  terror  in  the 
thought  of  all  the  displeasure  she  and  his  papa  would  feel, 
the  punishment  they  would  inflict — and  then  the  loss  of 
their  good  opinion ! Ah,  poor  little  Charles ! — Had  he 
even  then  prayed,  his  heavenly  Father  would  have  made 
him  feel  how  much  better  and  easier  it  would  have  been 
to  bear  that,  than  to  go  on  plunging  from  sin  to  sin,  and 
lie  to  lie.  But  he  did  not  pray. 

As  he  stood,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  his  papa  came 
round  the  corner  of  the  street.  He  was  talking  to  another 
gentleman,  and  did  not  see  Charles,  but  his  terror  knew 
no  bounds.  He  flew  down  a little  lane,  and  ran,  and  ran, 
like  a guilty  thing  as  he  was,  till  he  got  into  abroad  street, 
where  he  had  never  been  before — and  there  he  stopped, 
like  to  drop  down  with  fear  and  fatigue.  As  he  slowly 
walked  along,  frightened  at  having  lost  his  way,  but  re- 
lieved that  he  had  escaped  from  his  papa,  whom,  at  other 
times,  he  used  to  run  to  meet,  he  saw  a pastry-cook’s  shop, 
with  many  nice  things,  and  such  a nice  smell  coming  out 
of  it.  He  remembered  the  remains  of  the  guinea  that  was 
in  his  pocket,  and  going  in,  he  asked  for  a tart.  It  was 


40 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


given  to  him,  and  he  took  out  his  shillings  and  paid  for  it. 
The  woman  of  the  shop  seeing  he  had  so  much  money 
said  to  him,  “ I think  you  seem  very  hot  and  tired,  mas- 
ter ; you  had  better  sit  down  on  this  sofa,  and  eat  your 
tart.”  Charles  was  very  glad  of  the  offer ; and  while  he 
was  eating  the  tart,  she  kept  recommending  this  nice  things 
and  that  nice  thing,  and  then  almost  forced  him  to  eat  a 
quantity  of  different  things — while  she  praised  his  beauty, 
and  said  she  was  sure  his  papa  must  be  some  great  gen- 
tleman, he  was  such  a very  pretty  little  boy. 

Meanwhile,  some  very  riotous  young  men  came  into 
the  shop  and  began  to  eat  fruit,  and  drink  liquors.  One 
of  them  looked  at  Charles  several  times,  and  then  said, 
“ Well,  my  little  hearty,  you  seem  to  eat  plenty;  let’s  see 
if  you  can  drink  any  !”  and  he  offered  Charles  a glass  of 
liquor.  He  refused  it,  but  the  wicked  young  man  insist- 
ed, and  Charles  put  it  to  his  lips ; it  was  very  sweet,  and 
pleasant  tasted,  so  he  continued  to  sip  at  it  till  he  had 
drunk  more  than  half  the  glass-full.  The  young  man  look- 
ed on  and  laughed,  and  said  to  his  companions,  aIt’s 
good  fun  to  see  a little  chap  like  that  drunk.”  At  hearing 
this,  Charles  jumped  off  the  sofa,  and  ran  out  of  the  shop; 
but  the  woman  pursued  him,  and  told  him  he  must  pay  for 


A mother’s  offering. 


41 


what  he  had  ate ; and  of  seven  shillings  which  he  had  in 
his  pocket,  she  said  he  owed  her  six,  which  she  took  from 
him.  Charles  cried  bitterly,  and  said  it  could  not  be  so 
much,  but  she  said  he  was  a mean  little  rascal  to  want  to 
cheat  her,  and  to  go  about  his  business ; and  so  saying, 
she  gave  him  a push  from  her,  and  went  back  into  her 
shop.  Charles  wandered  down  the  street,  crying : he  met 
a lady,  who  looked  very  compassionately  at  him,  and  asked 
him  why  he  cried  ? he  was  ashamed  to  tell  the  whole  rea- 
son, so  he  answered  that  he  had  lost  his  way.  She  asked 
where  he  wanted  to  go.  He  hesitated,  and  then  said  to 
the  play-ground  of  Mr.  Watt’s  school.  The  lady  him 

to  dry  his  tears  and  she  would  take  him  there,  sv  ind- 

ly  turned  with  him,  and  soon  led  him  to  the  ( nee  of 

the  play-ground.  f'' 

The  school  was  some  time  out,  and  Charles  was  soon 
surrounded  by  the  boys — particularly  the  bad  ones,  who, 
unlike  good  boys,  had  not  gone  home  to  tea.  He  exhi- 
bited his  battledore  and  shuttlecock,  his  balls,  his  tops, 
and  his  spinning  jack,  and  boasted  how  many  fine  things 
he  had  besides  these,  and  how  much  money  he  had  spent. 
The  boys  looked  and  wondered,  but  being  bad  boys,  in- 
stead of  feeling  pleased  that  a companion  had  got  any  nice 


42 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


thing,  they  were  angry  and  spiteful.  “ And  who,”  said 
one  of  the  oldest  of  them,  “ who  gave  you  all  the  money? 
Did  you  steal  it  ?”  Charles  was  irritated  into  a rage  by 
their  impertinence,  and  wishing  to  appear  as  great  as  pos- 
sible, he  answered,  “ Steal  it,  indeed ! — you  impertinent 
monkey — my  papa  gave  me  a whole  guinea  for  being  a 
good  boy.”  “ My  papa  gave  me  a whole  guinea  for  be- 
ing a good  boy,  and  playing  the  truant ,”  repeated  the  boy, 
mimicking  Charles,  and  all  the  rest  burst  into  fits  of  laugh- 
ing and  repeated  the  words,  at  the  same  time  twitching 
Charles  by  the  sleeves  and  skirts  of  his  jacket.  He  was 


©llv 


spefL  A j with  fury;  for,  besides  all  the  feelings  of  shame, 

disgr  ilt,  and  rage,  that  filled  his  poor  little  heart, 

the  into!  y \ T liquor  he  had  drank  was  now  in  his  head, 
" ' drm 

and  he  sea  knew  what  he  did.  He  flew  at  the  boys ; 
boxed  one,  scratched  another,  kicked  at  a third ; they 
shouted  and  laughed,  and  returned  his  blows.  Bad  boys 
are  always  cowards  ; so  instead  of  fighting  it  out  one  to 
one,  they  all  attacked  him,  threw  him  down,  and  beat  him 
cruelly ; the  big  boy  who  first  provoked  him,  ran  away 
with  his  fine  battledoor  and  shuttlecock,  another  seized 
his  spinning  jack  and  another  his  ball.  Dirtied,  hurt,  and 
enraged,  Charles  sprung  from  the  ground,  to  rescue  the 


T hi* 'boys  in. the  playground  TolDloing'  Charles  o£his  play  tliii 


A mother’s  offering. 


43 


playthings  for  which  he  had  sacrificed  so  much,  and  dart- 
ed upon  the  thief  of  his  spinning  jack ; but  he  being  a 
much  bigger,  stronger  boy,  and  besides  that,  not  having 
drank  any  noyau  that  afternoon,  with  one  unmerciful  blow 
drove  poor  Charles  once  more  to  the  ground — his  face 
struck  a large  stone,  the  blood  burst  from  his  nose  and 
mouth ; he  fainted  with  the  agony,  and  immediately  they 
all  ran  off  and  left  him. 

A gentleman  wrho  had  a son  in  that  school,  was  passing 
at  that  moment,  and  partly  saw  the  battle  : observing  that 
Charles  did  not  move,  he  humanely  went  into  the  play- 
ground, and  raised  him.  He  could  scarcely  believe  that 
the  bloody,  bruised,  dirty  child,  was  Charles  Annersly; 
but  he  took  him  in  his  arms,  and  carried  him  home  to  his 
father’s  house,  which  was  at  no  great  distance. 

My  dear  little  readers,  how  little  can  you  understand, 
or  even  guess  at  the  sorrow  of  a mother,  or  a father,  when 
they  see  their  child  brought  home  in  such  a state  ! — you 
may  believe  me,  you  will  never  know  a sorrow  so  great 
till  you  are  yourselves  fathers  and  mothers.  Charles  had 
come  to  himself  before  they  reached  his  father’s  door, — 
and  how  very  dreadful  were  his  feelings  ! — Streaming 
with  blood,  his  body  hurt  and  bruised  by  the  cruel  boys 


44 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


for  the  sake  of  whose  expected  admiration,  applause  or 
envy,  he  had  committed  so  many  sins,  told  so  many  lies; 
here  he  was  going  home,  wretched  and  terrified,  to  his 
papa  and  mamma. 

Oh,  was  all  a guinea  could  buy,  w’orth  such  misery  as 
he  endured  ? And  what  had  it  bought  for  him  ? Nothing 
but  sorrow,  disappointment,  anger,  a sick  and  oppressed 
stomach,  a bad  headach,  a cruel  beating,  and  a sore  sore 
heart ; and  such  like  are  ever  and  ever,  my  dear  children, 
the  consequences  of  sin,  either  in  childhood  or  manhood. 
The  punishment  may  not  always  follow  so  quickly  as  it 
did  to  Charles  ; but  it  always  comes  some  time.  If  not 
on  earth,  how  much  more  awful  to  think  it  will  come  after 
we  die,  in  the  endless  ages  of  eternity. 

Soon  after  Charles  was  carried  home,  he  began  to  vomit 
most  violently,  and  his  poor  mamma  was  puzzled  to  ima- 
gine when  or  where  he  had  eaten  such  a quantity  of  stuff ; 
but  to  all  her  inquiries  he  only  answered  with  sobs  and 
tears,  so  she  thought  it  best  to  give  over  questioning  him 
for  that  night.  Poor  Charles,  when  left  alone,  shed  many 
bitter  tears ; and  thought  he  had  been  punished  enough 
for  his  cunning  and  duplicity  about  the  guinea ; but  alas ! 
his  punishment  was  only  begun.  In  the  morning  a man 


A mother’s  offering. 


45 


called  upon  his  father,  and  said,  he  was  sent  by  a magis- 
trate, to  mention  that  his  son  Charles  was  accused  of 
having  stolen  a gold  guinea  from  a lady  in  a shop ; and 
that  it  was  distinctly  proved  that  he  had  spent  it  in  a toy- 
shop, and  in  a pastry  cook’s,  where  he  wras  seen  eating, 
and  drinking  noyau. 

Mr.  Annesley  exclaimed  that  it  was  utterly  impossible 
that  his  boy  could  be  so  wicked,  whoever  had  said  so,  had 
told  a base  falsehood  ! The  man  replied,  that  the  very  rea- 
son the  magistrate  had  sent  him  was  to  let  Mr.  Annesley 
know  that  the  circumstances  were  so  distinctly  proved  against 
his  son,  that  it  would  be  better  for  him  to  pay  the  guinea 
at  once,  than  have  the  boy  any  farther  affronted,  or  per- 
haps publicly  punished.  He  said  the  lady  had  gone  into 
a shop  to  buy  something,  and  laid  down  her  handkerchief, 
and  her  purse  with  one  gold  guinea  in  it,  on  the  counter, 
while  she  looked  at  some  goods,  and  when  she  turned  round 
again,  they  were  both  away,  no  one  could  tell  how,  but 
some  one  must  have  slipped  in  at  the  door,  and  snatched 
them  up. 

About  an  hour  after  this,  Charles  had  gone  to  a toy  shop 
and  endeavoured  to  change  a gold  guinea,  which  he  said  he 
had  found ; and  when  the  man  of  the  shop  told  him  it  was 


46 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


wrong  to  spend  it,  he  got  into  a great  rage,  and  snatched 
up  the  guinea,  and  the  man  saw  he  ran  down  the  street  into 
another  toy-shop,  where  it  was  found  he  spent  fourteen 
shillings  : From  that  he  went  to  a confectioners,  where  he 
spent  six  shillings  in  eating  and  drinking ; from  that  he 
went  to  the  play-ground,  where  he  told  he  had  got  a gui- 
nea from  his  papa,  for  being  a good  boy ; quarrelled  with 
some  of  his  companions  for  saying  he  had  played  the  tru- 
ant, and  got  beat  by  them.  Mr.  Annesley  felt  as  if  his 
very  heart  would  break ; he  turned  away  without  saying  a 
word  to  the  man,  except  to  tell  the  magistrate  he  would  call 
upon  him  in  about  an  hour,  and  going  up  to  Charles’  room, 
he  sat  down  by  his  bed-side.  He  would  scarce  have  known 
him  for  his  own  boy, — his  eyes  and  nose  were  blue,  and  his 
cheeks  scratched,  and  swelled  with  crying,  and  there  was 
a great  blue  bump  upon  his  brow ; conscious  of  guilt  he 
did  not  dare  to  look  his  father  in  the  face — “ Charles,”  said 
he,  in  a stern  voice,  “ tell  me,  and  as  you  value  your  life, 
tell  me  the  truth,  did  you  steal  a guinea  last  night  ? Oh, 
have  I lived  to  ask  my  own  child  if  he  is  a thief!”  Charles 
could  not  speak  for  a moment,  he  was  so  stunned ; he 
wished  that  the  earth  could  open  and  hide  him  forever. 

His  father  repeated  the  question  in  even  a more  dread- 


A mother’s  offering. 


47 


ful  voice. — “ Oh,  no,  no,  papa,  I did  not  steal  it ; indeed, 
indeed,  I did  not.”  “ Where,  then,  unhappy  boy,  did  you 
get  it  ?”  said  his  father.  “ I got  it  from  a gentleman  for 
finding  his  pocket-book  ” said  Charles,  sobbing  as  if  his 
heart  would  break. 

“You  got  it  from  a gentleman  for  finding  his  pocket- 
book  !”  repeated  his  father ; “ to  one  you  have  told  that 
you  found  it,  to  another  that  I gave  it  to  you , and  here  is  a 
third  story ; which  of  them,  most  wretched,  wicked  child, 
is  the  truth,  or  are  they  all  falsehoods  together  ?”  Charles 
started  out  of  bed,  and  throwing  himself  on  the  floor  be- 
fore his  father,  almost  choaked  with  sobs  and  cries  he  ex- 
claimed, “ Oh  my  papa,  my  papa,  I have  been  a very 
wicked  boy ; 1 did,  I know  I did,  tell  these  two  lies  ; but 
indeed,  indeed,  papa,  I am  telling  the  truth  now;  I got  the 
guinea  from  a gentleman  I never  saw  before,  for  picking 
up  his  book  on  the  road.” — “ And  you  spent  it  upon  toys, 
and  sweatmeats,  and  upon  noyau  to  make  yourself  drunk  ? 
Oh,  what  a very  dreadful  child  you  are  !”  and  his  father 
hid  his  face  in  his  hands  and  groaned.  “ Oh  papa,  I bought 
toys  and  sweatmeats,  but  I did  not  buy  that  stuff,  it  was  a 
young  man  that  gave  it  me  in  the  confectioner’s  shop.” 
“Well,  Charles,  you  have  brought  yourself,  and  your  pa- 


48 


the  infant’s  annual;  or. 


rents,  into  a situation  of  shame  and  disgrace,  from  which 
they  never  can  recover.  You  are  accused  of  stealing  that 
guinea  from  the  counter  of  a shop,  and  but  for  the  respect 
which  Mr.  Innes  the  magistrate  has  for  your  father  and 
mother,  you  would  this  morning  have  been  carried  to  the 
common  prison,  and  perhaps  tried  for  your  life.”  “ But, 
papa,  I will  go  to  Mr.  Innes,  and  tell  him,  I got  it  from  that 

gentleman .”  “ You  will  tell,  and  who  will  believe  a 

liar  ? I feel  that  I cannot  believe  you,  and  if  your  own 
father  feels  that,  what  must  strangers  ? No,  Charles,  your 
character  is  ruined  for  life,  never  more  need  you  hope  to  be 
believed  or  trusted,  even  when  you  tell  the  truth:” — as  he 
said  this,  he  slowly  left  the  room,  and  went  away  to  the 
magistrate’s  house.  He  felt  that  he  had  not  one  word  to  say 
in  defence  of  his  unhappy  little  boy,  so  he  silently  paid 
the  guinea,  and  returned  home  ; ashamed  as  he  walked 
along  the  street,  to  look  any  one  in  the  face  ; for  he  thought 
to  himself,  “ I am  the  father  of  a liar  and  a thief.” 

He  found  Charles  back  into  his  bed,  and  his  mother  sit- 
ting by  him  weeping  bitterly.  He  sat  down  beside  her, 
and  no  longer  able  to  bear  the  agony  of  his  feelings,  he  sob- 
bed and  wept  also.  My  dear  children,  what  do  you  think 
were  Charles’  thoughts  and  feelings  then?  Had  they  beaten 


A mother’s  offering. 


49 


him  almost  to  death,  he  would  not  have  felt  half  so  bitterly 
as  he  did,  to  see  his  father  and  mother  in  such  deep  dis- 
tress; all  caused  by  his  wickedness.  How  very  poor,  how 
pitiful,  did  all  a guinea  could  procure — all  he  had  even 
hoped  to  procure  for  it,  now  appear  to  him  in  comparison 
with  the  sufferings  it  had  caused  ! Ah,  my  children,  pray 
to  God  that  he  would  help  you  to  think  of  that  before , in- 
stead of  after  you  have  sinned, 

Charles  wept  without  intermission,  and  towards  the  af- 
ternoon he  appeared  so  very  ill,  and  had  such  a dreadful 
headach,  that  his  mamma  sent  for  a doctor.  He  told  her 
that  Charles  was  taking  a fever;  and  so  he  was.  For 
many  weeks  his  life  was  in  great  danger.  No  one  thought 
he  could  live — and  what  he  suffered  during  these  weeks  ! 
the  pain  in  his  head,  and  in  his  breast,  and  in  his  limbs 
was  so  great  that  it  made  him  scream  out  constantly.  His 
beautiful  curly  hair  was  all  shaved  off,  and  a blister  put 
upon  his  head ; another  blister  was  put  upon  his  breast. 
He  was  bled  at  both  arms,  and  many  leeches  were  put  on 
different  parts  of  his  body ; he  had  to  take  bitter  medi- 
cines, and  endure  more  things  than  I can  make  you  un- 
derstand. 

A thousand  times  he  would  have  wished  to  die,  but  when 
4 


50 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


that  wish  rose  in  his  mind,  it  was  always  followed  by  the 
thought  of  his  sins,  and  the  recollection  of  the  dreadful 
words  in  the  Bible,  “ Every  liar  shall  have  his  portion  in 
the  lake  that  burneth  with  fire  and  brimstone and  then 
he  would  shriek  aloud,  and  pray  to  God  to  spare  his  life 
that  he  might  try  and  be  a good  boy.  His  dear  and  tender 
mother  hung  over  him  night  and  day,  holding  him  in  her 
arms,  and  shedding  tears  for  his  sufferings.  At  last  he  began 
very  slowly  to  recover,  but  was  so  weak  that  he  could  not 
feed  himself,  or  raise  himself  in  bed.  He  was  no  more 
the  little  happy  merry  boy  he  used  to  be  ; sad  and  melan- 
choly, he  lay  without  ever  speaking ; thinking  constantly 
about  the  guinea  and  all  it  had  brought  upon  him. 

One  day  his  mamma  was  sitting  by  him,  and  she  spoke 
to  him  on  the  subject,  and  begged  he  would  now  tell 
her  the  exact  truth.  Charles  burst  into  tears,  and  repeated 
exactly  all  that  had  happened, — adding,  “ whoever  stole 
the  guinea,  mamma,  it  was  not  me  ; Oh  no,  I was  bad,  bad, 
but  I did  not  do  that.” 

His  mother  sighed  deeply,  and  said  she  believed  he  was 
telling  the  truth  now ; but  no  other  body  would  believe 
that ; and  he  must,  through  all  his  after  life,  bear  the  dread- 
ful name  of  thief  \ unless  it  should  please  God  to  justify 


A mother’s  offering. 


51 


him  from  the  false  charge  brought  against  him.  A charge, 
she  pointed  out  to  him,  that  never  could  have  been  made 
against  him,  had  he  not  first  made  himself  a liar.  She 
told  him  to  pray  constantly  to  God  that  he  would  be  so 
merciful  as  to  save  him  from  ever  telling  another  lie,  and  be 
pleased  to  send  some  way  of  showing  to  the  world  he  was 
not  a thief  also, — and  this,  poor  Charles  did  with  all  the 
earnestness  of  a broken  and  contrite  heart. 

About  two  months  after  this,  one  day  when  they  were 
sitting  at  breakfast,  a very  neat  little  parcel  was  brought  in, 
addressed  to  Mr.  Annesley.  It  had  come  by  the  coach 
from  London,  and  Charles  felt  very  curious  to  know  what 
was  in  it.  He  thought  papa  very  slow  at  undoing  the 
strings,  and  that  he  would  have  done  it  much  quicker, — at 
length  the  last  paper  was  unrolled, — a little  neat  box  ap- 
peared, and  a letter  for  his  papa.  The  box  was  opened, 
and  in  it  lay  a most  beautiful  little  gold  watch  ! his  papa 
read  the  letter  aloud, — it  was  thus  : — 

“ Sir, — About  three  months  ago,  as  I was  walking 
along  the  public  road,  near  your  house,  I dropped  a very 
valuable  pocket-book,  which  was  picked  up,  and  instantly 
restored  to  me  by  your  little  son.  At  th^  time,  having  no 
more  loose  money  by  me  than  would  pay  my  expenses  to 


52 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


London,  I could  only  present  him  with  the  trifling  reward 
of  a guinea.  Had  I lost  that  pocket-book,  I must  have 
been  ruined ; and  I therefore  beg  you  will  present  to  the 
little  fellow  who  saved  me  from  such  a misfortune,  the 
watch  which  accompanies  this,  with  my  very  best  and 
kindest  good  wishes.  I am,  Sir,  yours,  &c. 

F.  Walsingham.” 

“ Oh,  papa,  papa !”  cried  Charles  throwing  his  arms 
round  his  papa’s  neck,  “You  see  I was  not  a thief.  Oh  ! 
God  has  heard  my  prayers, — every  body  will  know  now 
that  I was  not  a thief.”  “ Most  grateful  am  I to  God  for 
showing  that,  my  poor  boy,”  said  his  father  “ and  also  for 
checking  you  so  severely  at  your  outset  in  sin ; but,  Charles, 
can  you  accept  of  that  watch?”  His  father  turned  round 
the  back  of  it  to  him,  and  showed  him  his  own  name  beau- 
tifully engraved  on  it,  and  the  words — “ The  reward  of  truth 
and  honesty. — 1st  July  1832.” 

Charles’  face  grew  crimson,  and  then  pale. — He  strug- 
gled with  himself  for  a moment  or  two,  and  then  bursting 
into  tears,  he  said, — “ No,  papa,  the  watch  cannot  be  mine, 
— I was  that  day  neither  honest  nor  true, — send  it  back  to 
Mr.  Walsingham,  and  tell  him  so, — tell  him  all  my  shame;” 


diaries  sTiow]iJri.s  owaname  oixtlie  baok.'ofthe 


■ 


A mother’s  offering. 


53 


and  he  sobbed  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  His  father 
and  mother  folded  him  in  their  arms,  and  said  to  him,  that 
never  did  they  hope  to  love  him  so  well  again  as  they  did 
at  that  moment, — for  they  felt  that  he  then  was  truly  good , 
and  could  acknowledge  his  sin  without  seeking  a disguise 
for  it.  Charles  often  afterwards  said,  it  was  strange,  he 
bitterly  regretted  giving  up  the  beautiful  watch,  he  would 
have  been  so  proud  to  wear ; and  yet,  perhaps,  it  wras  the 
happiest  moment  of  his  life,  when  he  was  folded  in  the 
fond  embrace  of  a father  and  a mother,  pleased  and  delight- 
ed with  him,  because  he  had  strength  of  mind  to  give  it  up, 
when  he  felt  he  did  not  deserve  it. 

A few  weeks  after  this,  Mrs.  Annesley  told  Charles  she 
wished  him  to  go  with  her  to  a watch-maker’s  shop,  where 
she  was  going  to  leave  her  watch  to  be  repaired.  Charles 
hated  to  go  out  to  the  streets,  for  he  thought  every  body 
looked  at  him  and  said,  “ there  goes  the  little  thief how- 
ever he  obeyed  his  mamma,  and  went  to  the  shop  with  her. 
While  the  man  was  looking  at  his  mamma’s  watch,  a lady 
and  a little  girl  about  his  own  age  came  in.  When  the 
lady  saw  the  master  of  the  shop  was  engaged,  she  stood 
still,  without  asking  for  what  she  wanted ; and  the  little 
girl  began  to  look  at  the  pretty  things  in  the  glass-cases  on 


54 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


the  counter, — all  at  once  she  cried  out, — “ Mamma  there  is 
your  purse  that  was  stolen, — look,  mamma  !”  “ Hush  my 

dear,”  said  her  mamma,  “ one  purse  may  be  like  another.” 
“ No,  mamma,  indeed,  but  it  is  your  purse ; for  there  is  the 
very  stitch  of  yellow  silk  with  which  I mended  it,  when 
little  James  let  it  fall  and  broke  one  of  the  gold  links  ; look, 
mamma !”  The  lady  looked,  and  turning  to  the  master  of 
the  shop,  she  said,  “ may  I ask  where  you  bought  that 
purse,  sir,  for  it  is  certainly  very  like  one  I lost  about  three 
months  ago  ;”  the  man  looked  very  troubled  and  said, — “ I 
do  not  think  it  can  be  yours, — I bought  it  from  a very 
honest  woman.”  “ Well,”  said  the  lady,  “ it  will  be  easily 
known  if  it  is  my  purse,  for,  if  it  is  so,  the  gold  studs  that 
at  present  seem  quite  confused,  will  when  drawn  in  a par- 
ticular way,  form  the  initials  of  my  name,  M.  H.  M.”  The 
man  took  out  the  purse,  the  lady  drew  it  and  the  letters, 
M.  H.  M.  appeared.  “ It  is  your  purse,  mamma,”  cried  the 
little  girl,  “ I am  so  glad.”  “ Sir,”  said  the  lady,  turning 
to  the  master  of  the  shop,  “ do  you  know  from  whom  you 
bought  this  purse?”  “Yes,  ma’am,”  said  the  man.  “Then,” 
said  the  lady,  “ you  will  please  to  attend  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  Innes  the  magistrate,  this  afternoon,  along  with  the 
person.”  “ Oh,  ma’am,”  said  the  man,  “ you  are  quite 


A mother’s  offering. 


55 


welcome  to  take  the  purse,  since  you  have  proved  it  yours.” 
“ No,”  replied  the  lady,  “ that  will  not  do.  A little  boy, 
the  son  of  respectable  parents,  was  unjustly  accused,  and 
as  I thought,  convicted  of  stealing  this  purse ; and  if  he 
was  innocent,  it  is  my  duty  to  prove  that,  and  have  him 
restored  to  the  good  opinion  he  lost.”  Charles,  who  had 
listened  to  all  this  in  breathless  anxiety,  could  stand  it  no 
longer;  he  burst  into  a fit  of  sobbing,  and  darting  forward 
to  the  lady,  cried  out,  “ Indeed,  indeed,  I was  quite  inno- 
cent,— I never  saw  that  purse  before, — mamma  will  tell 
you,  I didn't  steal  your  guinea.”  The  surprise  of  the  lady 
may  be  imagined ; but  Mrs.  Annesley  spoke  to  her,  and 
explained  the  circumstances,  and  when  the  lady  understood 
that  Charles  was  the  little  boy  so  unjustly  accused  of  steal- 
ing her  purse,  she  felt  more  than  ever  resolved  to  find  out 
who  did  it.  So  she  desired  the  shopman  to  give  her  the 
name  of  the  woman  immediately,  and  she  sent  a proper 
person  to  bring  her  instantly  to  the  magistrate’s ; when 
this  wicked  woman  found  that  she  was  discovered,  she 
thought  it  best  to  confess  that  she  was  in  the  shop  buying 
something  the  night  the  lady  came  in,  and  laid  down  her 
handkerchief  and  purse ; so  she  just  whipped  them  into 
her  lap,  and  walked  away  with  them ; and  as  she  was  sup- 


56 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


posed  to  be  quite  an  honest  woman,  the  people  of  the  shop 
never  suspected  her  when  the  purse  was  missed. 

Oh  ! how  great  was  the  joy  of  Charles  at  being  thus  jus- 
tified ! How  great  his  gratitude  to  God  who  had  thus  heard 
his  prayers  ! How  deeply  did  he  feel  that  God  hears  and 
answers  every  prayer,  even  of  the  littlest  child,  if  it  comes 
from  the  heart . Yes,  he  felt  this,  and  he  never  forgot  it. 

A few  days  after  this,  another  letter  came  from  Mr. 
Walsingham,  returning  the  watch,  and  saying,  that  “ since 
Charles  had  the  honesty  to  confess  how  guilty  he  had  been, 
he  deserved  to  wear  the  watch, — to  put  it  in  his  pocket ; 
and  if  ever  he  felt  again  tempted  to  sin  as  he  had  done,  to 
pull  it  out,  and  think  of  the  1 st  of  July  1832.” 

His  father  and  mother  folded  him  to  their  bosom,  and 
bade  God  bless  and  guide  him. 

My  dear  little  readers,  Charles  xAnnesley’s  first  lie  was 
also  his  last . May  our  heavenly  Father  bless  all  of  you, 
and  preserve  you  from  either  committing  such  sins,  or  en- 
during such  punishments. 


A mother’s  offering. 


57 


MY  OWN  INFANCY. 

When  I was  only  six  years  old,  I lost  my  beautiful 
mother,  she  on  whose  bosom  I used  to  rest  my  young  head* 
who  taught  me  my  first  prayer,  and  wiped  away  all  my 
childish  tears  ! 

One  night  my  father  carried  me  in  his  arms  into  my 
mother’s  room.  As  he  placed  me  on  her  bed,  his  hands 
shook  and  his  breast  heaved  violently, — the  apartment  was 
very  dark — the  attendants  moved  about  with  noiseless 
steps — I observed  several  grave  strangers  present,  and 
every  face  upon  which  I looked  seemed  sad — I felt  afraid, 
crept  still  closer  to  my  mother, — my  mother  ! oh  how  pale 
she  was  ! I thought  I had  never  seen  her  so  pale,  nor  her 
eyes  so  large  and  so  bright.  She  called  me  her  child,  her 
little  Jane,  she  raised  the  curls  from  my  brow,  and  kissed 
it  fondly.  Her  kiss  was  cold  ; her  very  breath  upon  my 
cheek  chilled  it,  and  her  voice  as  she  blessed  me,  was 
fainter  and  sweeter  than  any  voice  I have  heard  since.  I 
remember  as  in  a dream,  one  of  the  strangers  approaching, 
and  then  a confusion  of  many  persons  rushing  forward 
with  lights  to  where  I lay  by  my  mother’s  side,  of  being 


58 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


snatched  up  hastily,  of  my  mother’s  fingers  being  entwined 
with  my  hair,  and  as  I was  hurried  away,  of  seeing  my 
poor  father  falling  to  the  ground. 

Next  morning  they  told  me  that  my  mother  was 
dead, — I knew  not  what  was  meant,  but  when  it  was  said 
I should  never  see  her  again,  with  clasped  hands  and 
streaming  eyes,  I implored  those  about  me  to  pity  me ; I 
pled  and  promised,  I prayed  them  to  forgive  my  little  of- 
fences, and  with  many  assurances  that  I would  be  good , 
that  I would  love  them  all,  entreated  to  be  taken  to  my 
mother.  No  one  regarded  me  ; I was  utterly  desolate 
and  alone. 

In  the  dusk  I slipt  to  my  mother’s  chamber,  I knocked 
softly,  there  was  no  answer  ! I knelt  down  on  the  stone 
floor  and  listened  breathlessly,  there  were  no  voices  within , 
only  the  wind  whistling  mournfully. 

My  father  left  me,  the  old  servants  were  dismissed,  and 
the  pretty  cheerful  rooms  shut  up  which  my  mother  once 
inhabited,  the  sunny  parlour,  adorned  with  her  own  em- 
broidery and  drawings,  where  her  harp  stood,  where  I used 
to  sit  at  her  feet  and  listen  to  her  songs,  where  I met  her 
welcome  every  morning,  and  received  her  kiss  and  blessing 


A mother’s  offering. 


59 


every  night,  was  now  a deserted  place  ! — I saw  rude  hands 
laid  on  her  books,  and  on  the  curious  ivory  work-box  which 
I had  learned  to  value  for  the  sake  of  the  dead  uncle  by 
whom  it  was  sent  from  a distant  land ; her  favourite  gera- 
niums were  neglected  and  drooped,  Oh  how  I longed  to  at- 
tend and  water  them,  their  every  leaf  was  dear  to  me ! 
even  the  poor  canary  bird  that  chanted  so  gaily  at  my 
mother’s  bidding,  hung  its  wings  and  piped  sadly,  its 
little  wants  were  unheeded,  and  none  cared  for  its  music  : 
— wherever  I looked,  the  comfort,  the  sweetness,  the  order 
which  surrounded  my  mother’s  presence  had  disappeared, 
her  blessed  voice,  her  step,  her  beautiful  form  were  gone ! 
The  long  passages  echoed  strangely  as  I stole  through 
them,  the  house  seemed  cold  and  dark  and  still,  and  when 
wearied  with  wandering  from  one  silent  apartment  to 
another,  I returned  to  lay  my  head  upon  her  vacant  seat,  I 
felt  I was  alone  in  the  world  ! No  protecting  arms  were 
about  me,  no  cheering  words,  no  smile  awaited  me,  I was 
a forsaken  and  forlorn  child. 

Of  all  those  by  death  bereaved,  the  most  helpless,  the 
saddest,  is  the  little  timid,  motherless  girl,  who,  once  the 
object  of  unceasing  love  and  thought,  suddenly  finds  her- 
self cast  from  the  gentle  breast  where  she  was  accustomed 


60 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


to  have  all  her  fears  and  sorrows  hushed,  upon  the  care  of 
strangers,  and  who  as  in  my  case,  mourns  in  solitude  her 
changed  lot,  unnoticed  and  uncomforted. 

Children  on  whom  the  blessing  of  affectionate  parents 
or  kind  attendants  is  bestowed,  praise  the  Giver  of  all 
good ! and  while  your  friends  are  yet  spared  to  you , honour, 
obey,  and  gratefully  love  them. 

My  sweet  mother’s  prayer  when  she  first  hung  over  my 
cradle,  was  also  the  latest  she  breathed  in  that  hour  in 
which  her  arms  clasped  me  in  death.  Her  own  life  was  a 
preparation  for  heaven,  and  that  her  little  daughter  might 
meet  her  there,  was  the  desire  of  her  heart,  after  which 
she  daily  supplicated  and  daily  endeavoured;  but  I,  as 
with  folded  hands  I knelt  before  her,  looked  to  no  heaven 
beyond  her  countenance  bending  towards  me  ; all  I knew 
of  holy  things  I knew  only  in  her;  I cared  for  no  joy  but 
that  of  being  near  her,  for  no  love  but  hers  ! God  drew 
me  to  Himself!  and  although  the  means  were  grievous,  I 
believe  that  she  who  then  stood  an  angel  in  His  presence, 
rejoiced  and  praised  the  grace  which  smote  to  save  me  ! 

It  is  only  a portion  of  my  early  history  which  this  little 


A mother’s  offering. 


61 


volume  will  admit ; a very  few  of  its  events  may  interest 
and  perhaps  benefit  my  young  readers. 

Nurse  Jeffries  was  a tall,  dark,  handsome  woman.  My 
infancy  is  now  a half  forgotton  story,  but  even  at  this  dis- 
tant period  of  time,  I can  clearly  recal  the  glance  of  her 
bright  black  eyes,  and  the  rapidly  and  softly  uttered  assu- 
rances with  which  she  replied,  to  my  agitated  father’s 
earnest  entreaties,  as  he  bade  me  adieu,  and  placing  my 
trembling  hands  in  hers,  implored  of  her  to  guard  and 
cherish  me  during  his  absence.  My  attendant  was  false  to 
her  promises  ! It  was  in  vain  that  by  various  arts  I sought 
to  win  her  love.  I sung  to  her  my  best  song,  exhibited 
before  her  all  my  small  possessions,  and  made  her  a sharer 
in  my  store  of  sweetmeats.  My  first  efforts  were  repulsed, 
and  my  fearful  spirit  shrank  from  any  further  familiarity. 
Every  day  she  grew  more  negligent  and  more  unkind ; my 
humble  offerings  wrere  rejected,  and  once  with  expressions 
so  peculiarly  contemptuous,  that  I looked  up  into  Nurse 
Jeffries’  face  ; there  was  a frown  on  her  brow,  and  she  re- 
buked me  harshly.  My  affection  I perceived  had  become 
as  valueless  as  my  gifts,  and  to  the  full  sense  of  my  loss 
and  my  loneliness  I at  length  awoke  ! I crept  away,  and 


62 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


sought  in  the  garden  a shaded  place  where  I might  mourn 
and  weep  unseen.  I remember  it  was  a summer  evening, 
that  the  branches  of  a perfumed  shrub  hung  over  me,  that 
the  grass  plot  upon  which  I lay  was  tufted  with  primroses, 
that  bees  hummed  about  me,  that  the  birds  sung  sweetly, 
and  that  opposite,  the  sun  was  setting.  I looked  and  listen- 
ed, and  gradually  my  tears  ceased.  I gazed  upon  the  wide 
glorious  sky  with  a feeling  of  awe.  I had  heard  that  the 
spirits  of  the  good  are  carried  up  to  heaven,  and  I believed 
that  beyond  the  golden  clouds  my  mother  dwelt ! I pic- 
tured to  myself  the  home  of  the  blessed,  and  endeavoured 
to  recal  all  I had  been  told  concerning  it,  until  I longed 
for  that  hour  when  I should  no  more  grieve  nor  weep,  but 
should  be  borne  by  angels  into  my  heavenly  Father’s  bo- 
som. I began  to  repeat  the  hymns  my  mother  taught  me, 
and  to  ponder  over  many  of  her  lessons,  the  meaning  of 
which  for  the  first  time  opened  on  me.  “ There  is  a great 
Being,”  she  used  to  say,  “ by  whom  all  things  were  made, 
who  created  you,  the  stars,  the  sun,  the  earth,  the  little 
meadow  flowers,  and  these  shining  insects  fluttering  in  the 
light ; he  is  every  where  present ; his  eye  is  on  }mu  con- 
tinually ; he  hears  your  lowest  whisper ; whatever  you 
think,  or  say,  or  do,  is  known  to  him.” 


A mother’s  offering. 


63 


I thought  with  wonder,  that  while  hid  beneath  the  lilach 
boughs  God  saw  me,  that  he  heard  my  cries,  and  that  even 
the  most  secret  sorrows  of  my  little  broken  heart  were  not 
concealed  from  him. 

I had  further  learned  from  my  mother,  that  God  is  both 
great  and  tenderly  compassionate ; that  his  love  surpasses 
the  love  of  a parent,  and  that  when  in  pity  to  sinful  men  he 
dwelt  in  this  cold  world,  he  took  playful  infants  in  his  arms, 
that  he  blessed  them,  and  that  he  said  to  those  who  rebuked 
their  approach,  “ Of  such  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven.” 
Had  he  been  here,  I exclaimed,  he  would  have  received 
and  sheltered  me.  And  is  he  not  here  ? his  own  Spirit 
whispered  in  my  soul ; is  he  not  around  you  at  every  mo- 
ment? is  he  not  kind  and  gracious  “ yesterday,  to-day  and 
for  ever  ?”  Many  things  of  later  date  have  faded  from  my 
memory,  but  my  recollections  of  this  evening  will,  I be- 
lieve, accompany  me  to  another  world.  I never  was  alone 
again ; I never  again  felt  forsaken ; and  although  the  chas- 
tisements were  severe  with  which  it  was  seen  fit  to  afflict 
my  early  years,  under  every  trial,  the  sense  of  God’s  pre- 
sence, of  his  boundless  love  and  watchful  care,  sustained 
me. 

From  being  indifferent  to  my  comfort,  and  repulsive  in 


64 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


her  manner,  Nurse  Jeffries  became  harsh  and  tyrannical. 
A variety  of  unlucky  circumstances  contributed  .to  sour 
and  vex  her,  and  to  draw  on  me  the  peculiar  weight  of  her 
displeasure ; while  her  temper  naturally  irritable  and  dis- 
contented, wTas  rendered  doubly  so,  by  the  retired  life  she 
found  herself  obliged  to  lead  in  our  sad  mansion,  and  by  a 
hopeless  warfare  carried  on  with  the  prejudices  of  a severe 
old  lady,  who  for  sometime  held  the  place  of  housekeeper, 
and  whose  difference  of  taste  disappointed  every  attempt 
of  her  gay  associate  to  enliven  their  solitude  by  introducing 
visiters  and  parties  of  pleasure.  On  one  occasion  how- 
ever, repeated  solicitations  prevailed,  and  Nurse  Jeffries 
obtained  permission  to  spend  an  evening  with  her  friends 
in  the  village.  She  was  overjoyed, — commenced  her  toi- 
let immediately,  and  bestowed  on  me  a rare  smile,  as  with 
childish  earnestness  I expressed  my  admiration  of  the 
pretty  shining  hair  she  so  carefully  arranged  at  the  looking- 
glass.  Fleeting  were  Nurse  Jeffries’  smiles,  short-lived 
my  time  of  favour.  She  quitted  the  room  for  a moment ; 
I stood  over  the  showy  dress  in  which  she  intended  to  ap- 
pear, eating  my  supper  of  bread  and  milk ; a sudden  noise 
startled  me  ; the  little  poringer  slid  from  my  hands,  and 
the  delicate  green  silk  was  deluged.  I was  panic-struck ; 


■ 


The  milk  .spilt  on  Kijrs'e  -Jeffries  g'ovn. 


A mother’s  offering. 


67 


evening  light  was  shining  on  the  dark  damask  curtains  of 
my  mother’s  bed ; I traced  in  the  dusk  the  sofa  on  which 
she  used  to  recline,  the  table  at  which  she  sat  at  work,  and 
most  of  the  objects  to  which  I was  familiar ; but  the  fur- 
niture was  arranged  in  formal  order,  and  the  apartment  had 
a strange  and  solemn  appearance — there , however,  it  was 
I had  been  happy — there  I had  been  loved  and  watched 
over,  and  no  gloomy  apprehensions  occurred  to  me  ! I 
opened  the  large  Bible  from  which  I received  my  earliest 
lessons ; flower  leaves,  placed  by  my  own  hand  at  my 
mother’s  desire,  still  marked  those  passages  best  suited  to 
my  tender  years ; I read  them  with  feelings  of  new  and 
sweet  interest ; and  when  the  shades  of  night  gathered  so 
thickly  about  me  that  I could  no  longer  follow  the  letters 
of  the  sacred  volume,  I dropt  on  my  knees,  and  entered 
into  communion  with  God.  By  degrees  the  effects  of 
agitation  and  fatigue  overcame  me ; my  head  gently  de- 
scended on  my  folded  arms,  the  past  and  present  dis- 
appeared, and  I fell  fast  asleep.  Bright  and  prosperous 
days  have  since  been  granted  me,  but  never  have  I gone  to 
rest,  even  when  kind  friends  guarded  my  slumbers,  with 
a more  blissfully  calm  and  thankful  heart. 

When  I awoke  it  was  day,  and  nurse  Jeffries  standing 


68 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


over  me — she  regarded  me  with  an  expression  of  very 
unusual  concern,  lifted  me  from  the  ground,  hoping  I might 
not  have  caught  cold  by  my  exposure  to  the  air  of  an  un- 
inhabited room,  led  me  gently  to  the  nursery,  and  continu- 
ed to  address  me  in  much  milder  accents  than  those  to 
which  I was  accustomed ; throughout  the  day  she  avoided 
every  act  of  violence,  and  at  times  treated  me  with  indul- 
gence, and  an  appearance  of  affection.  With  the  unsus- 
pecting trust  of  infancy,  I believed  she  was  sorry  for  hav- 
ing beat  me,  that  she  would  no  longer  neglect  me,  that  I 
should  now  be  beloved,  and  all  the  soft  and  ready  affec- 
tions of  my  nature  flowed  out  towards  her  gratefully. 

At  night  she  took  me  on  her  knee,  and  commenced  to 
dandle  and  fondle  me  with  so  much  vivacity,  to  lavish  on 
me  such  a torrent  of  endearing  language,  to  talk  so  loudly 
and  so  quickly,  and  to  tell  me  so  many  frightful  and  ridi- 
culous tales,  that  I shrank  from  her  merriment,  and  would 
fain  have  escaped  from  her  caresses.  Finding  her  in  so 
pleasant  a mood,  and  desirous  to  change  the  discourse  from 
the  frolics  of  ghosts  and  goblins  to  more  soothing  themes, 
with  a blushing  cheek  and  a low  whisper  I begged  permis- 
sion to  read  some  of  my  stories — it  was  granted.  I seated 
myself  on  a little  stool,  and  with  considerable  satisfaction 


A mother’s  offering. 


69 


and  gravity  commenced  a favourite  portion  of  the  scripture. 
I had  not  proceeded  far,  however,  before  I was  interrupted 
by  a most  disrespectful  yawn,  and  a hasty  interrogation  if 
I would  be  a good  girl  and  do  as  I was  desired. 

My  young  readers,  when  the  world  grows  dark  about 
you,  when  you  are  oppressed,  and  all  things  seem  to 
frown  on  you,  still  look  to  God,  and  he  will  not  abandon 
you,  either  under  the  wrath  of  your  fellow- creatures,  or  to 
the  power  of  your  invisible  enemies. 

My  wicked  attendant  had  laid  a snare  for  my  soul,  in  a 
system  of  deception,  by  which  she  hoped  to  elude  the 
vigilance  of  her  superior ; and  to  be  enabled  to  pass  the 
evenings  as  she  chose,  she  sought  to  make  me  an  accom- 
plice ! with  smooth  words,  bribes  and  entreaties,  she  lay 
in  wait  to  entrap  me.  Finding  these  fail  a different  method 
was  resorted  to,  and  the  heaviest  punishments  inflicted- — it 
was  an  hour  of  dismay  and  of  sore  temptation  ! I was  a 
feeble  child,  and  frequently  my  spirit  was  about  to  sink ; 
but  again  and  again  I cried  to  the  Lord  to  deliver  me,  and 
every  prayer  procured  me  new  strength  and  a deeper  ab- 
horrence of  sin.  When  my  delicate  frame  could  endure  no 
more,  and  my  persecutor  herself  grew  weary,  she  ceased 
to  beat  me,  threw  me  into  a dark  closet  and  turned  the  key. 


70 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


The  wild  histories  to  which  I had  just  been  listening, 
disturbed  my  fancy,  and  even  nurse  Jeffries’  threats,  her 
alarming  gestures,  and  her  severest  chastisements  seemed 
preferable  to  the  crowd  of  terrifying  images  which  haunted 
me  in  the  deep  silence  of  my  present  situation.  I wrung 
my  hands,  and  wept  bitterly.  A sweet  promise  from  the 
word  of  God  occurred  to  me,  and  like  dew  of  heaven  fall- 
ing on  a drooping  plant,  in  some  degree  restored  my  mind 
to  peace.  I strove  against  my  fears,  and  began  to  sing  a 
little  hymn ; my  first  notes  were  low  and  tremulous ; as 
I advanced  they  became  clear  and  fuller,  and  the  con 
eluding  verse  I chaunted  so  powerfully,  that  it  caught  nurse 
Jeffries’  ear.  She  hurried  to  the  spot,  and  through  the 
closed  door  whispered  anew  her  proposals — I calmly  re- 
jected them,  and  I never  heard  her  voice  again  ! 

My  repose  was  broken ; a fresh  breeze  and  the  morning 
sun  streamed  into  my  prison.  I opened  my  eyes,  and  be- 
held my  mother’s  form  bending  over  me.  I fainted. 

When  awakened  to  consciousness,  a murmur  of  unknown 
sounds  was  about  me ; several  mild  faces  regarded  me 
earnestly,  and  words  of  the  most  soothing  encouragement 
were  breathed  in  my  ear.  I was  told,  in  tones  familiar  to 


■m 


. 


“It  was  my  aiml.  Mary.’ 


A MOTHER’S  offering, 


71 


my  heart,  of  one  who  loved  me,  who  had  crossed  wide 
seas  to  embrace  me,  who  was  now  by  my  side,  and  with 
whom  I should  always  dwell.  I turned  towards  the  gentle 
speaker ; again  the  same  soft  searching  eyes  met  mine  ; 
there  were  the  bright  ringlets,  the  fair  brow,  the  smile — 
It  was  my  Aunt  Mary. 


72 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


THE  FROSTY  DAY. 

u Are  you  very  cold,  mamma  ?” 

“ No,  my  love,  not  at  all.  My  nose  is  a little  cold,  and 
my  toes,  but  the  rest  of  me  is  quite  warm.  And  are  you 
warm,  my  darling  ?” 

“ No,  mamma.  I think  it  is  very  very  cold.” 

“ Dear  me  ! I’m  sorry  for  that.  Come  let  us  run  a lit- 
tle, and  that  will  make  you  warm ; for  I am  sure  you  are 
well  covered  up,  and  every  thing  comfortable  about  you.” 
“ Yes,  mamma,  and  that  is  what  makes  me  wonder ; for 
we  are  meeting  many  little  girls  who  have  on  no  bonnets, 
or  tippets,  or  cloaks,  playing  and  sliding  on  the  ice,  quite 
happy.  And  I saw  both  a boy  and  a girl  with  bare  feet, 
and  they  were  playing  on  the  ice  quite  happy,  mamma ; 
their  little  pink  feet  and  toes,  oh,  mamma,  just  like  pigeons’ 
toes.  How  can  they  do  that,  mamma  ?” 

“ They  are  accustomed  to  go  out  in  the  cold,  my  dear, 
and  they  don’t  feel  it.  When  I was  a little  girl,  like  you, 
I used  to  be  quite  happy,  too,  when  I could  make  my  escape, 
and  go  whisking  out  among  the  new-fallen  snow.  I thought 


A mother’s  offering. 


73 


it  delightful  fun  to  fly  about  and  run  races  with  Oscar,  my 
dear  little  doggie.” 

“ Oh,  mamma,  were  you  not  sadly,  sadly  cold  ?” 

“ Oh  no,  not  at  all  cold.  I was  quite  merry,  and  very 
unwilling  to  let  myself  be  caught  and  brought  into  the 
house  again.” 

“ I would  not  like  to  do  it,  I think  mamma.” 

“ I think  you  would  not,  my  love  ; but  I was  allowed  to 
run  about  in  the  cold,  and  it  made  me  hardy  and  strong, 
and  I did  not  catch  cold  as  you  do.” 

“Mamma,  does  cold  ever  make  people  die  ?” 

“ Oh  yes,  my  dear  lamb ; many  people  have  died  of  cold ! 
have  been  frozen  to  death,  my  darling  !” 

“ How  is  that,  mamma  ? Should’nt  they  go  into  a 
house  ?” 

“ Ah,  my  little  dear,  how  little  you  know ! When  peo- 
ple among  the  hills,  those  great  white  snowy  hills  yonder, 
and  many  such  hills  in  this  country — are  out  looking  after 
their  sheep  and  lambs,  they  are  often  long  exposed  to  the 
frosty  wind:  and  when  the  snow  is  so  thick  that  they  can’t 
walk  quick  to  keep  themselves  warm,  those  poor  shepherds 
are  often  frozen  among  the  hills,  where  there  are  no  houses. 


74 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


no,  not  one.  And  many  sheep,  in  spite  of  their  thick  wool, 
are  frozen  too,  and  many  starved  for  want  of  food  !” 

“ Mamma,  I’m  sorry,  sorry  ! I would  like  to  give  them 
all  meat,  and  make  them  all  warm  mamma.” 

“ I know  that,  my  love.” 

“Is  it  colder  on  the  high  hills  than  the  little  hills, 
mamma  ?” 

“ Oh  yes,  much  colder.  You  see  it  is  always  the  tops 
of  Ben  Lomond  and  those  other  great  mountains  that  first 
appear  white,  because,  high  up  in  the  air,  it  is  very  cold  ; 
and  what  is  only  dew  and  rain  here  and  on  the  little  hills, 
is  hoarfrost  and  snow  on  the  high  mountains  : and  when 
people  are  obliged  to  travel  in  winter  over  hilly  parts  of 
this  country,  when  it  begins  to  snow  they  are  in  great 
danger.” 

“ Would  the  snow  get  into  their  coaches,  mamma  ?” 

Ah,  my  little  lamb  ! no  coaches  can  go  in  such  places ! 
Look  up  to  that  hill,  there,  my  dearest,  that  is  but  a poor 
little  hill,  and  you  see  people  scrambling  about  on  it,  and 
many  cows  ; but  you  see,  even  on  it  no  coach  could  go  up 
or  down.  And  among  the  hills  in  that  part  of  this  country 
which  is  called  the  Highlands,  the  people  are  very  hardy* 


A mother’s  offering. 


75 


and  go  about  on  their  feet,  but  it  often  happens  that  these 
hardy  strong  people  are  frozen  till  they  die.” 

“ Ah  mamma ! that  is  terrible,  terrible ! And  what 
would  become  of  babies  and  little  children  in  that  sad  cold 
place,  mamma  ?”  “ Ay,  my  little  love,  what  would  become 

of  them,  indeed,  if  their  papas  and  mammas  did  not  try 
to  keep  them  at  home  ! But  poor  people  who  have  no 
servants,  are  sometimes  obliged  to  send  their  children  on 
errands  in  cold,  cold  weather.  When  I was  a little  girl  like 
you,  I heard  of  a poor  woman  who  wanted  medicine  for  a 
sick  baby,  and  her  daughter  said  £ I will  go  for  it  mammy:’ 
and  her  mother  said  ‘ She  did  not  like  to  let  her  cross  the 
hill  alone  and  her  little  brother  said  ‘ I will  go  with 
Meggy.’  So  their  mother  kissed  them,  and  said  they  were 
good  children,  and  she  wrapped  them  well  up,  and  put  a 
hood  on  the  girl’s  head,  and  a warm  plaid  round  her,  and 
also  covered  the  little  boy  well,  and  gave  them  some  bread 
and  they  went  away  quite  merry.  But  wThen  they  were 
coming  back,  the  wind  was  in  their  faces,  and  they  were 
cold,  cold,  and  their  little  hands  grew  stiff.  And  on  the 
top  of  the  hill  it  began  to  snow,  and  it  blew  in  their  faces, 
and  they  could  not  see  to  go  the  right  way.  And  the  poor 
little  boy  began  to  cry,  and  his  sister  tried  to  comfort  him. 


76 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


and  took  off  her  hood  and  put  it  on  his  head,  and  wrapped 
him  in  her  own  plaid.” 

“ Ah,  mamma  ! — that’s  what  I would  have  done  !” 

Indeed,  I am  sure  it  is,  my  blessed  child ! — She  took 
hold  of  his  hand  and  pulled  him  to  make  him  run ; but  his 
poor  leggies  were  quite  stiff  and  powerless,  and  he  could’nt 
go.  And  she  tried  to  carry  him,  though  she  was  always 
holding  the  medicine  fast  in  her  little  frozen  hand ; and 
when  she  was  wearied,  wearied,  she  let  him  down  and 
bid  him  try  to  walk, — and  he  tried,  but  his  feet  wouldn’t 
move,  and  he  fell  down  on  the  snowy  ground. — And  then 
his  poor  good  sister  took  off  her  petticoat  and  wrapped  it 
about  him — and  she  took  off  all  her  clothes  but  her  shift, 
and  put  them  all  about  her  starving  brother,  and  took  him 
in  her  arms,  and  lay  down  over  him,  and  held  him  tight, 
and  laid  her  face  upon  his  poor  cold  face,  and  cried  bitterly, 
bitterly.  And  their  poor  father  and  mother,  when  they 
saw  the  snow  falling  on  the  hill,  and  the  wind  so  cold,  and 
the  night  growing  dark,  ah ! they  were  frightened,  fright- 
ened, about  their  dear  little  boy  and  girl ! And  they  left  all 
their  other  children  in  the  house,  crying  sadly, — and  they 
ran  away  up  the  hill  and  took  the  dog  with  them  that 
watched  the  sheep,  for  they  are  very  sensible  dogs,  and 


The  Brother  and.  Sisterfoioicl  dead,  m the  snow. 


A MOTHER’S  offering. 


77 


they  told  him  to  seek  for  the  children ; and  the  dog  ran 
away,  snuffing  along  the  snow.  But,  my  little  dear ! it 
was  long,  long  before  they  heard  him  bark  loud,  loud,  and 
then  they  ran  to  the  place  his  voice  came  from,  and  there 
they  found  the  good  dog  howling  over  the  children,  and 
licking  their  faces.” 

“ Ah,  mamma ; I’m  glad  they  found  them.” 

“ My  love  !” — 

“ Oh  mamma,  mamma ; did  they  bring  them  home  ? 
That  good  dear  little  girl,  I love  her  much,  mamma.” 

“ Yes,  my  precious  child,  she  was  a good,  kind  girl,  and 
obedient  and  loving  to  her  mother ; and  he  was  good,  too, 
and  went  kindly  to  keep  his  sister  company.  They  were 
good  little  children  and  loved  each  other  much ! and  you 
know  I read  to  you  out  of  the  good  book,  ‘ that  of  such  is 
the  kingdom  of  heaven.’  ” 

“ Oh  yes,  mamma,  I remember — but  the  little  boy  and 
girl,  mamma.  What  did  their  mother  and  their  father  do  ? 
Did  they  take  them  home  ?” 

“ Yes,  dearest,  they  were  taken  home.  But  they  were 
frozen  ! — the  holy  angels  had  carried  their  blessed  spirits 
to  paradise  !” 


78 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


“ Oh,  mamma,  mamma  !” 


“ . . . Now,  my  little  love,  let  me  wipe  your  eyes, 

and  give  me  many  kisses.” 

“ But,  mamma,  I am  so  sorry  for  these  good,  dear  little 
children.” 

“ Don’t  be  sorry  for  them,  dearest ; for,  as  they  were  in- 
nocent, good  children,  obedient  and  affectionate  to  their 
parents,  and  loving  to  one  another,  their  heavenly  Father 
took  them  away  out  of  this  cold  world,  where  there  is  much 
misery  and  wickedness,  to  his  own  glorious  kingdom, 
where  there  is  nothing  but  goodness  and  happiness.  And, 
my  dear  child,  many  a good  little  boy  and  girl  have  become 
very  wicked  when  they  grow  old.  And  perhaps  the  Great 
Spirit  saw,  that  if  he  allowed  them  to  live  longer,  they 
might  be  tempted  to  do  some  bad  action,  or  fall  into  some 
bad  habit,  or  some  sad  misfortunes — and  because  he  loved 
their  little  innocent  souls,  he  took  them  away  where  they 
could  never  more  fall  into  either  sin  or  sorrow,  but  be  pure 
and  blessed  angels  for  ever  and  ever.” 

“ And  will  they  love  their  mother  and  father  yet,  mamma  ?” 
“ I have  no  doubt  but  they  will,  my  dearest  love  !” 


A mother’s  offering. 


81 


me  for  not  thinking  when  I said  them  before.”  And  then 
when  she  had  knelt,  and  said  them  “ out  of  her  very  heart f 
she  went  to  sleep ; sweetly  sure,  that  He  who  careth  for 
even  the  little  sparrows  that  hop  from  tree  to  tree,  would 
watch  over  her  and  all  she  loved 

But  we  have  left  her  much  longer  upon  the  floor  than  she 
really  sat,  for  her  mamma  told  her  to  go  and  get  dressed 
for  a walk ; so  away  she  went  with  her  aunt  Mary  and  had 
a nice  walk. 

Margaret’s  papa  was  very  fond  of  her,  and  every  day 
when  he  came  home  to  dinner,  she  used  to  watch  for  him, 
and  run  when  she  saw  him,  and  jump  up  into  his  arms,  and 
then  papa  kissed  and  kissed  her,  and  sometimes,  when  he 
found  that  she  had  been  a very  good  girl,  he  gave  her  a 
penny.  Her  grandpapa,  too,  doated  on  her  very  much,  and 
was  staying  with  her  papa  and  mamma  at  this  time.  Every 
morning  when  her  grandpapa  was  dressing  she  would  tod- 
dle away  carrying  his  shoes  to  him.  One  day  about  a 
week  before  the  day  I am  telling  you  of,  when  she  lifted 
them,  she  observed  that  one  of  the  strings  was  broken, — 
she  recollected  that  among  her  doll’s  things,  she  had  a bit 
of  black  ribbond  like  that  which  was  in  the  other  shoe  ; 
and  away  she  flew  and  got  it.  She  sat  down  at  the  outside  of 


82 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


her  grandpapa’s  bed  room  door,  and,  with  a pm,  she  strug- 
gled and  struggled  till  she  got  it  through  the  holes  in  the 
same  way  she  had  seen  her  own  shoes  done. 

Grandpapa  wondered  what  had  become  of  his  darling 
and  the  shoes  that  morning,  that  they  were  not  coming  as 
usual,  so  he  opened  his  door  to  look  for  them,  and  there 
she  sat.  “ Oh,  grandpapa,  I have  almost  got  it  through  the 
last  hole.  There  it  is !”  she  cried,  and  held  up  the  shoe  to 
her  grandpapa,  quite  glad  and  proud  of  what  she  had  done. 
When  grandpapa  saw  and  understood  it,  he  was  glad  and 
proud  too,  and  stooped  down  and  kissed  the  sweet  child, 
and  gave  her  a big  half-dollar. 

Now  Margaret  had  great  delight  in  spending  her  pen- 
nies ; she  used  to  buy  little  rolls,  or  little  biscuits,  to  eat 
when  she  was  out  at  her  walk,  and  sometimes  she  bought 
little  dolls  or  penny  boxes  to  give  to  a companion  she 
was  very  fond  of,  and  who  had  no  pennies  of  her  own. 
Very  often  she  gave  her  biscuit,  or  her  roll,  to  a poQ^  child 
if  she  saw  any  looking  hungry  at  her ; and  she  remembered 
how  much  good  porridge  and  milk  she  had  had  for  breakfast, 
when  perhaps  they  had  none.  She  was  a very  sweet-tem- 
pered obliging  little  child,  and  never  was  so  happy  as  when 
she  could  run  little  messages,  or  do  any  thing  else  to  as- 


Little  Margaret  gtvmg  tier  Grand  p ap  a iri  s shoe. 


A mother’s  offering. 


83 


sist  any  one  ; and  it  is  quite  astonishing  how  much  even  a 
very  little  child  can  do  when  they  are  willing,  and  how 
much  trouble  they  can  avoid  giving,  if  they  try  not  to  be 
troublesome. 

When  little  Margaret  went  out,  as  I told  you,  to  walk 
with  aunt  Mary,  they  passed  a baker’s  shop  where  there 
were  some  nice  biscuits  in  the  window,  and  her  aunt  asked 
her  if  she  was  going  to  buy  one.  She  said  “ no  ; if  you 
please,  aunt  Mary,  I’m  not  going  to  buy  any  thing  at  all 
to-day.”  “ Perhaps  you  want  to  buy  a doll  for  little  Jane  ?” 
“ No ; I’m  not  going  to  buy  any  thing  at  all.”  “ But,” 
said  her  aunt,  “ if  you  don’t  buy  a biscuit,  you  will  be  very 
hungry  before  you  get  home.”  “ Oh,  I don’t  mind  that,  I 
don’t  mind  being  hungry.”  Her  aunt  wondered,  but  did 
not  say  any  more  ; and  for  many  days  more  did  Margaret 
continue  to  deny  herself  the  little  indulgence  of  spending 
her  pennies.  Whatever  money  her  papa  or  grandpapa 
gave  her,  she  run  and  put  it  in  a little  drawer  beside  the 
half-dollar.  Her  mamma  often  asked  her  for  what  she 
was  gathering  her  pennies  so  carefully : she  would  not 
tell. 

At  last  one  day,  when  she  was  out  with  aunt  Mary,  she 
asked  her  “ how  much  pennies  it  would  take  to  buy  a pair 


84 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


of  shoes  ?”  “ Is  it  for  yourself,  my  love  ?”  said  her  aunt. 

“ No,  aunt  Mary,  it  is  not  for  myself,  it  is  for  my  mamma.” 
“ For  your  mamma,  my  dear  child  !”  “ Yes,  aunt  Mary, 

I saw  a hole  in  my  dear  mamma’s  shoe  one  day,  and  she 
said  she  had  no  pennies  to  buy  another  shoe,  and  I was 
sorry,  and  I remembered  grandpapa’s  half-dollar  and  a 
penny  I had,  and  now  I have  another  penny,  and  a six- 
pence saved,  will  all  that  buy  mamma  a pair  of  shoes  ?” 
Aunt  Mary  told  her  she  feared  even  all  that  would  not 
buy  a pair  of  shoes,  but  that  it  would  need  at  least  another 
shilling.  Margaret  was  very  sorry,  and  said  she  would 
try  to  get  another  shilling,  but  was  afraid  it  would  take  a 
long  long  while. 

In  a few  days  after  this,  poor  little  Margaret  grew  very 
sick,  and  her  mamma  had  to  give  her  a very  bad-tasted, 
ugly-looking  medicine.  She  refused  at  first  to  take  it,  but 
when  her  mamma  explained  to  her  that  it  was  to  make  her 
well,  and  that  it  was  her  duty  to  take  it,  she  put  it  in  her 
mouth  and  swallowed  it.  The  taste  was  so  very  disagree- 
able that  she  was  like  to  vomit  it  again,  but  she  clapped 
her  hands  upon  her  mouth  and  kept  it  down.  Her  grand- 
papa was  standing  by,  and  when  he  saw  how  very  good 


A mother’s  offering. 


85 


she  was,-  he  gave  her  a sixpence  ; and  her  uncle,  who  hap- 
pened to  be  in  the  room  too,  gave  her  another,  and  they 
both  kissed  and  praised  her  much.  Thus  by  being  good 
and  obedient,  Margaret  got  her  much-wished-for  shilling 
when  she  least  expected  it ! She  was  a happy,  happy 
child ; she  flew  to  her  aunt  Mary  and  gave  her  all  the 
money,  and  the  shoes  were  got  immediately ; and  then  she 
ran  to  her  mamma,  and  pulled  off  the  old  shoe  with  the 
hole  in  it,  and  put  on  the  new  pretty  ones.  How  asto- 
nished her  mamma  was  ! Ah,  who  can  tell  which  was 
most  completely  blest ! the  little  generous  heart  that  was 
throbbing  with  delight,  or  the  mother’s  to  whose  bosom 
that  precious  child  was  clasped. 

My  dear  little  readers,  don’t  you  feel  that  sweet  little 
Margaret  was  far,  far  happier  than  she  could  ever  have 
been  with  buying  biscuits  or  dolls  ? Indeed  she  was,  and 
so  will  every  child  that  loves  others  more  than  it  loves  it- 
self. Do  you  feel  it  difficult  to  do  this  ? Are  you  unwil- 
ling to  give  up  your  own  pleasure  or  gratification  for  the 
sake  of  another,  and  do  you  wish  to  get  the  better  of  a 
temper  so  hateful  as  this — a temper  that  will  make  you 
unhappy  and  unloved  on  earth,  and  unfit  for  heaven?  Then 
do  hke  little  Margaret,  ask  your  heavenly  Father,  “ out 


86 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


of  your  very  heart”  not  merely  with  your  lips,  to  assist 
you  in  overcoming  this  and  every  other  fault,  and  believe 
me,  dear  little  ones,  you  never,  never  will  ask  in  vain. 


LITTLE  MARGARET’S  HYMN. 

My  God,  my  Father,  and  my  Friend, 
Who  art  to  children  ever  kind, 

To  thee  my  little  voice  I raise, 

Oh,  listen  to  an  infant’s  praise  ! 

Save  me,  Lord,  from  doing  ill, 

Teach  me  how  to  do  thy  will ; 

With  thy  good  Spirit  keep  my  heart, 
That  I may  rightly  do  my  part. 

Oh  never  let  me  be  so  bad, 

As  make  my  gentle  mother  sad ; 

Or  make  my  father  frown  on  me, 

And  say  that  I’ve  offended  Thee  ! 

Fill  my  heart  with  love  to  Thee 
For  all  thy  boundless  love  to  me  : 


A mother’s  offering. 


87 


Give  me,  what  only  thou  canst  give, 

The  power  to  serve  Thee  while  I live. 

And  when  I die,  as  die  I must, 

Teach  me  in  Thee  alone  to  trust ; 
And  take  me  to  thy  bright  abode, 

My  Friend,  my  Father,  and  my  God ! 


88 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


PRESENCE  OF  MIND. 

“ Mamma,  what  is  presence  cf  mind  ? I heard  you  and 
papa  speaking  of  presence  of  mind,  saying  some  person 
had  showed  great  presence  of  mind,  and  I don’t  know  what 
it  is,  mamma.  And  I have  been  trying  to  find  out  what 
it  is  by  thinking  about  it,  that  I might  not  plague  you  with 
foolish  questions ; but  though  I think,  and  think,  I don’t 
know  it,  mamma,  and  I hope  it  is  not  a foolish  question.” 
“ Oh  no  my  little  love,  it  is  a very  sensible  question. 
Presence  of  mind,  my  dear,  means  that  a person,  though 
surprised,  or  alarmed,  or  in  danger,  does  not  forget  what  is 
right  to  say  or  do.  Many  people  when  they  are  startled  or 
frightened,  grow  quite  confused,  and  say  and  do  the  silliest 
things.  And  in  that  way  many  sad  evils  have  happened, 
and  many  people  have  caused  the  loss  of  their  own  lives 
and  the  lives  of  others  by  losing  their  presence  of  mind.” 
“ And  cannot  people  learn  to  have  presence  of  mind, 
mamma  ?” 

“ Oh  yes,  my  dear,  surely  they  can  ; for  people  are  not 
alarmed,  so  as  to  forget  what  they  ought  to  do,  when  ac- 
cidents happen  in  their  own  line  of  business  or  profession. 


A mother’s  offering. 


89 


A sailor  knows  instantly  what  to  do  when  accidents  occur 
in  a boat  or  a ship ; but  in  the  same  situation  a landsman 
would  be  at  his  wit’s  end.  And  firemen,  that  means  those 
people  who  are  employed  to  extinguish  fires — don’t  lose 
their  presence  of  mind  in  the  most  horrible  dangers  while 
exerting  themselves  to  save  the  lives  of  others.  So  that 
it  is  evident  that  one  of  the  most  needful  requisites  for  ac- 
quiring presence  of  mind,  is  knowledge ; and  the  more 
people  accustom  themselves  to  observe  attentively  what 
is  passing  round  them — both  what  they  see,  and  what  they 
hear  or  read  of,  as  to  the  best  way  of  remedying  accidents 
of  different  kinds,  the  less  likely  it  is  that  they  will  be 
startled  into  stupidity  when  any  sudden  alarm  occurs  in 
their  presence,  even  though  they  might  never  have  seen 
the  like  before.” 

' And  can  little  children  have  presence  of  mind, 
mamma  ?” 

“ It  is  not  expected  that  little  children  should  have  much 
presence  of  mind,  my  dear ; yet  I have  known  instances 
of  it  in  very  young  children.” 

“ Have  you  mamma  ? oh  do  tell  me  what  they  were  ; do, 
dear  mamma !” 

“ The  most  remarkable  that  I recollect  at  present,  oo 


90 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


cured  in  the  nursery  of  a friend  of  ours.  It  was  in  win- 
ter, and  a young  lady  went  with  all  her  family  to  visit  at 
her  father’s  house,  where  there  were  also  some  young 
children,  the  aunts  and  uncles  of  their  little  visiters.  They 
were  all  in  the  nursery  play-room,  romping  and  amusing 
themselves ; and  the  nursery  maids  were  also  amusing 
themselves  in  a gossip,  instead  of  noticing  what  the  child- 
ren were  about.  Presently  some  of  the  little  things  light- 
ed a bit  of  stick  in  the  fire,  and  ere  long  a shriek  arose 
among  the  happy  group,  for  one  of  the  neices  was  in  flames. 
Instantly  the  nursery  was  in  an  uproar — the  maids  ran  here 
and  there,  yelling  and  screaming,  but  not  once  attempted  to 
approach  the  poor  child,  or  to  do  any  thing  for  her  preser- 
vation, so  that  the  flames  rose  over  her,  and  scorched  her 
beautiful  neck  and  head, — and  she  would  certainly  have 
been  burnt  quite  dead,  my  darling ! had  not  one  of  her 
little  uncles,  a boy  only  about  five  years  old,  snatched 
up  a large  worsted  shawl,  and  running  to  her  with  all  his 
speed,  flung  it  over  her,  and  crushed  out  the  flames,  by 
squeezing  her  in  his  little  arms  ! 

“ Ah,  mamma,  wdiat  a dear  clever  good  boy  ! I love 
him  much,  mamma  ! And  was  the  poor  little  girl  burnt 
very  sore  ?” 


A mother’s  offering. 


91 


“ Oh  yes,  my  love  she  was  sadly  scorched ; her  pretty 
neck  was  greatly  burnt,  and  in  sad  torture,  and  though 
these  sore,  sore  places  were  healed,  there  were  scars  left  on 
her  neck,  and  on  one  side  of  her  lovely  face,  so  that  she 
had  always  to  wear  a cap.” 

“ Ah,  mamma, — poor  little  girl ; and  is  not  burning, 
very,  very  painful,  mamma  ? I remember  when  I lifted  a 
hot  pin  that  Jane  had  been  trimming  the  lamp  with,  it  stuck 
to  my  fingers  and  made  me  cry  much,  and  was  sore  for 
many  days.” 

“ Oh  yes,  my  love ; I suppose  there  are  no  bodily  tor- 
ments so  dreadful  as  those  of  burning  ; and  many  dismal 
and  cruel  accidents  and  deaths  are  caused  by  the  great 
carelessness  of  servants  carrying  fire  and  lighted  candles 
about  a house.” 

“Was  this  the  reason,  mamma,  why  you  turned  off 
Sarah,  the  chamber-maid,  who  would  carry  burning  coals, 
in  the  tongs  or  a little  shovel,  into  the  rooms  ?” 

“ Yes,  it  was  just  for  that ; and  do  you  know  that  foolish 
obstinate  woman,  who  laughed  at  those  who  were  careful 
about  fire,  set  fire  to  herself,  while  carrying  coals  in  the 
tongs  through  her  master’s  house  ; and  having  no  presence 
of  mind,  instead  of  trying  to  extinguish  it,  by  rolling  her^ 


92 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


self  on  the  ground,  or  wrapping  herself  in  a rug  or  carpet, 
she  flew  from  place  to  place,  shrieked  over  the  windows, 
and  rushed  down  stairs,  and  through  the  wide  lobbies,  so 
that  the  wind  blew  the  flames  so  much,  that  she  died  soon 
after,  poor  miserable  creature  !” 

“ Oh,  that  was  terrible,  mamma  ? But  how  did  the 
wind  make  the  flames  more  ? I thought  wind  would  blow 
out  the  fire  ; it  blows  out  a candle  or  a lamp.” 

“ Oh,  my  little  love,  it  is  a little,  little  flame  that  wind 
blows  out ! And  have  you  forgotten  that  it  is  by  blowing 
with  a pair  of  bellows  we  make  the  fire  burn  ?” 

“ Oh,  yes,  mamma,  I was  foolish  to  forget  that !” 

“ Yes,  but  by  and  bye,  when  you  are  older,  you  will  urn 
derstand  that  it  is  air  makes  fire  burn,  and  that  fire  will  not 
burn  without  it.” 

“ And  are  air  and  wind  the  same,  mamma  ?” 

“ Yes,  my  dear.” 

“ Then,  mamma,  I think  air  can  be  wind  only  when  it  is 
in  a terrible  hurry.” 

“ It  is  indeed  sometimes  in  a terrible  hurry,  my  sweet 
one  ?” 

“ And  do  you  know  any  other  story  of  presence  of  mind, 
mamma  ? 


A mother’s  offering. 


93 


“Yes,  I remember  one,  and  it  is  of  presence  of  mind  in 
a dog.” 

“ A dog  ! oh  dear  mamma,  pray  tell  it  to  me.” 

“ There  was  a gentleman  and  lady  who  had  one  little 
dear  baby,  and  their  nursery  was  on  the  upper  floor  of  the 
house  ; and  one  evening,  when  they  were  out,  the  nursery 
maid  after  putting  the  little  infant  into  its  cradle,  walked 
off  to  the  kitchen  to  refresh  herself  with  a gossip,  leaving 
a candle  burning  near  the  cradle.  Probably  a spark  from 
the  candle  set  fire  to  the  clothes  in  the  cradle  ; at  any  rate, 
they  were  on  fire,  and  the  little  innocent  would  certainly 
have  been  destroyed,  but  a dog,  lying  on  the  hearth,  the 
instant  he  saw  the  flames;  flew  barking  down  to  the  kitch- 
en, which  was  three  stairs  below,  and,  seizing  the  nursery- 
maid by  the  petticoats,  hauled  her  towards  the  stairs,  and 
then  flew  up  again.  The  woman  had  the  sense  to  follow 
him,  and  was  just  in  time  to  snatch  the  little  sleeping  dar- 
ling from  the  flaming  cradle  before  the  fire  had  reached 
her.” 

“ Oh,  mamma,  that  dear,  good  dog ! I love,  mamma,  I 
love  him.  What  a dear  worthy  dog  J Oh,  mamma,  is  there 
no  good  happy  world  where  such  good  loving  dogs  are 
taken  when  they  die  ? I hope  there  is,  mamma  !” 


94 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


“ My  little  grateful  dear,  I hope  so ; — we  are  not  told 
that  there  is, — but  we  are  all  quite  sure  that  our  heavenly 
Father,  who  watches  over  all  his  creatures,  and  cares 
for  the  happiness  of  all,  cares  even  for  the  beauty  of  the 
flowers,  and  will  certainly  leave  no  good  or  kind  action 
without  its  reward,  either  in  this  world  or  in  another.” 


A mother’s  offering. 


95 


MY  BROTHERS  AND  SISTERS 

V 

It  somehow  strikes  me,  that  perhaps  my  little  readers 
would  like  to  hear  about  my  brothers  and  sisters,  and  my- 
self, when  we  were  such  little  children  as  you  are  now  : — 
how  we  learned  lessons  as  you  do  now — how  we  amused 
ourselves — how  we  did  wrong,  and  were  punished  for  it — 
and  how  we  were  very  happy  sometimes,  and  other  times 
miserable,  just  exactly  as  you  are  now  ! 

I had  three  sisters  and  three  brothers.  We  had  a very 
good,  kind  papa  and  mamma,  who  did  all  in  their  power  to 
make  us  good  and  happy  children. 

Our  brothers  never  were  allowed  any  authority  over  their 
sisters,  or  to  be  in  any  way  cruel  and  unkind  to  them.  On 
the  contrary,  they  were  instructed  to  know  and  to  feel,  that 
there  cannot  be  a greater  disgrace,  or  mark  of  meanness 
and  cowardice  in  a boy’s  character,  than  the  being  cruel  to 
any  thing  that  is  weaker  than  himself,  especially  a girl ; 
because  both  nature  and  the  Bible  teach  us,  that  it  is  the 
duty  of  man  to  protect  and  sustain  “ the  weaker  sex .” 
And  they  were  also  taught  to  feel,  that  there  is  much  more 
superiority  of  mind  shown  in  being  able  to  give  up  a trifle, 


96 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


than  in  contending  about  it,  or  gaining  it  by  brutal  force, 
as  we  too  often  see  boys  do.  I must  own  whenever  I see  a 
boy  cruel  or  rude  to  his  sisters,  I think  to  myself — that  boy 
when  he  grows  to  be  a man,  will  never  be  either  a great 
or  a good  one ; he  will  be  just  a mean  cowardly  fellow  ; 
and  I can  tell  you  more,  I have  very  seldom  been  mistaken . 

There  were  of  us  four  girls.  Bertha,  Mary,  Ellen,  and 
Harriet.  I leave  you  to  guess  which  of  all  these  was  me . 
My  brothers  were  Henry,  Adolphus  and  John.  At  the 
time  I intend  to  tell  you  about,  Bertha  was  fourteen  years 
of  age,  and  was  in  Edinburgh,  at  a boarding  school ; Henry 
was  eleven;  Mary  was  ten ; Adolphus  and  Harriet,  who 
were  twins,  were  nine  ; and  Ellen  was  eight;  John  was  a 
little  boy  in  petticoats. 

We  lived  in  a beautiful  country-house,  surrounded  with 
fine  old  trees ; we  had  a nice  swing  among  the  trees  ; we 
had  rabbits ; we  had  each  of  us  a little  garden ; and  we 
had  a house,  built  by  our  own  hands,  and  very  nicely  fur- 
nished. It  had  real  glass  windows,  and  seats,  and  a table. 
The  boys  made  these  of  wood  papa  gave  them.  They 
were  not  very  neat,  but  mamma  gave  us  girls,  some  nice 
pieces  of  cloth,  and  we  shaped  covers  of  it,  and  made  the 
seats  look  quite  smart ; and  then  she  gave  us  a cover  for 


A MOTHER’S  OFFERING. 


97 


the  table,  and  when  it  was  hemmed  and  put  on,  we  begged 
she  would  come  out  and  see  the  house  now,  it  was  so  fi- 
nished and  so  lovely.  I remember  so  well,  it  was  a Satur- 
day, and  we  had  all  been  very  good,  and  mamma  was 
pleased  with  every  one  of  us ; she  smiled  on  us  so  sweetly 
when  we  all  came  flying  in  with  this  request,  and  said, 
“ Well,  my  darlings,  have  a little  patience  and  I will  go 
with  you;  but  if  you  are  boisterous,  you  know,  I wont  go. 
Wait  here  for  me  a moment.”  So  saying,  she  left  the 
dining-room,  and  we  tried  to  wait  patiently,  but  we  all 
thought  mamma’s  moment  was  a very  long  one.  At  last 
she  came  back  with  her  shawl  on,  and  off  we  set,  jumping 
and  capering  round  her  as  she  walked,  holding  the  two  lit- 
tlest  ones  by  the  hands.  When  we  got  to  the  house,  the 
door  was  so  small  she  could  scarce  get  in,  and  then  when 
she  was  in,  she  was  glad  to  sit  down,  for  a very  good  rea- 
son, the  roof  was  so  low  she  could  not  stand  upright ! This 
vexed  us  a little  at  first ; but  mamma  was  always  so  good 
natured,  she  just  laughed,  and  said  it  was  a very  nice  house, 
and  quite  a right  size  for  us  little  bodies.  We  all  run  in  after 
her,  first  the  girls  and  then  the  boys  ; and  when  we  were 
all  in,  the  house  was  so  full  we  had  scarce  room  to  turn 

round ; but  what  was  our  delight  and  astonishment,  when 

7 


98 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


we  looked  at  the  table,  to  see  that,  instead  of  nothing  but 
the  white  cover  as  we  had  left  it,  there  it  was  now  cover 
ed  with  such  lovely  little  blue  dishes,  filled  with  biscuits 
and  fruit,  and  a little  plate  for  each  of  us  ! Dear,  dear 
mamma,  this  was  what  she  had  been  doing  during  the  mo- 
ment we  thought  so  long ! I think  I need  not  tell  you  how 
happy  we  were  ; how  we  laughed,  and  jumped,  and  talked, 
and  ate  ! I just  see  mamma  yet,  sitting  on  one  of  our 
stools,  and  making  so  much  fun,  yet  keeping  us  all  so 
gently  in  order. 

At  last  she  said  she  must  leave  us.  “ Oh  no,  no,  mamma, 
not  yet,  mamma,”  we  all  cried  out,  “ don’t  leave  us  yet,  you 
always  make  us  so  happy ; do  sing  us  a song,  mamma,  be- 
fore you  go  away.”  She  had  a beautiful  voice,  and  we  all 
delighted  so  much  in  hearing  her  sing,  we  could  have  sat 
for  ever  to  listen.  “ What  shall  I sing  ? shall  I sing  a song 
o’  sixpence  ?”  “ Oh  no,  mamma,”  said  Mary,  “ sing  ‘ Weel 

may  the  boatie  row  that  wins  the  bairnies’  bread.’”  Mam- 
ma sung  it  immediately ; — but  unless  your  mamma,  my 
dear  little  readers,  will  sing  this  song  to  you  too,  you  wont 
quite  understand  what  I am  going  to  say.  When  mamma 
had  done  singing,  she  looked  round  at  us  all  so  sweetly, 
but  we  saw  there  were  tears  in  her  eyes.  “ Have  we 


A MOTHER’S  offering. 


99 


vexed  you,  mamma  ?”  said  Henry.  “Oh  no,  my  dearest 
children,  no,  no ; each  of  you  come  and  kiss  me  and 
she  clasped  each  in  succession  to  her  heart.  “ No, 
my  darlings,  I was  not  vexed ; I only  thought,  as  I was 
singing  that  last  verse,  will  you,  like  ‘little  Sawney,  Jack 
and  Janetie,’  try,  when  papa  and  I are  old,  to  return  to  us 
the  happiness  and  cares  we  have  tried  to  bestow  on  your 
childhood  ?”  “ Oh  yes,  mamma,”  we  all  cried  out  earnest- 

ly, “ that  indeed  we  will.”  “ Remember,  my  beloved 
ones,”  said  she,  “ you  cannot  do  so  without  God’s  blessing, 
and  to  have  that , you  must  never  cease  to  ask  for  it.  Kiss 
me  once  more.  Never  forget  this  little  cottage  of  your 
own  making,  this  happy  moment,  or  the  promise  you  have 
made  me,  to  the  dying  day  of  each  and  all.”  The  rosy 
faces  then  turned  on  that  dear  mother  with  such  fond  af- 
fection, this  scene,  or  these  words,  never  were  forgotten . 
But  it  was  always  thus  with  mamma ; whenever  we  were 
particularly  happy,  she  so  sweetly  and  affectionately  im- 
pressed some  important  lesson  like  this  upon  our  minds, 
so  lhat  it  never  could  be  forgotten ; for  whenever  we 
thought  of  the  pleasure,  we  naturally  thought  of  the  good 
lesson  too. 

Our  papa  and  mamma  were  extremely  anxious  to  have 


100 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


us  all  well  educated, — the  boys  went  to  a school  in  the 
neighbouring  town,  and  so  did  the  girls  for  any  branches 
of  education  which  mamma  herself  could  not  give  them. 
There  was  no  acquirement  they  were  more  anxious  we 
should  possess  than  a taste  for  reading  ; and  by  pointing 
out  to  us  the  incalculable  advantages  to  be  gained  by  a 
love  for  reading,  and  by  always  taking  care  to  supply  us 
with  books  at  once  useful  and  interesting,  they  really  suc- 
ceeded in  making  us  extremely  fond  of  it.  Papa  had  an 
electrical  machine,  and  on  Saturday  nights  he  used  to  de- 
light us  by  showing  some  beautiful  experiments  with  it ; 
and  sometimes  he  showed  us  chemical  experiments  ; — -and 
the  little  explanations  he  gave  us  of  them,  interested  us  so 
much  that  we  longed  for  the  time  to  come  when  we  should 
be  allowed  to  study  these  delightful  sciences.  Mamma 
was  a good  botanist,  and  when  we  were  out  walking  with 
her,  we  used  to  run  about  and  gather  all  the  wild  flowers, 
and  bring  them  to  her  ; and  then  she  would  sit  down  and 
teach  us  how  to  find  out  what  class  and  order  they  belong- 
ed to ; and  tell  us  such  curious  things  about  trees  and 
plants  that  grow  in  other  countries.  Insects,  and  butter- 
flies, and  shells,  every  thing  we  saw ; the  very  stones  and 
earth  over  which  we  walked,  mamma  made  us  notice, 


A mother’s  offering. 


101 


and  had  something  interesting  to  tel]  about,  and  very  often 
told  us  some  funny  anecdote  that  set  us  all  a-laughing. 
Oh,  these  were  delightful  walks  ! and  no  punishment  so 
great  could  be  inflicted  on  any  of  us  as  not  being  permit- 
ted to  partake  in  them. 

Mamma  kept  two  books,  of  which  we  all  stood  in  the 
most  dreadful  awe. — The  one — for  I remember  the  appear- 
ance of  those  books,  as  well  as  if  they  were  before  my  eyes 
at  this  moment — the  one  was  covered  with  black  leather, 
and  the  other  with  pink.  Every  night  when  we  were 
about  to  go  to  bed,  and  just  before  we  said  our  prayers, 
these  two  books  were  brought  out,  and  mamma  wrote  in 
the  black  one  the  name,  or  names,  of  whoever  had  been 
bad,  whatever  faults  they  had  been  guilty  of  through  the 
course  of  the  day,  and  what  way  they  had  been  punished. 
In  the  pink  bock,  the  happy  names  of  the  good  children 
were  entered,  and  if  any  of  us  had  done  any  thing  she  par- 
ticularly approved  of,  she  wrote  it  down  in  it  too ; and  on 
Saturday  night,  as  soon  as  tea  was  over,  she  brought  out 
the  books,  and  papa  read  aloud  all  that  had  been  written  in 
them  during  the  wreek.  With  what  trembling  hearts  did 
those  who  knew  that  their  names  were  in  the  black  book, 
await  this  reading,  and  the  remarks  which  our  papa  after- 


102 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


wards  addressed  to  each  of  us  upon  our  conduct ! — I can 
truly  say  that  we  were  more  impressed  and  punished  by 
the  deep  distress  we  saw  it  gave  him  when  there  was  much 
in  the  black  book,  than  by  any  thing  else  that  could  have 
been  done  to  us  ; and  on  the  other  hand,  how  very  delight- 
ful were  his  smiles  and  words  of  affectionate  encourage- 
ment to  those  in  the  pink  book ! but  there  was  a farther 
punishment  and  reward  for  us.  Papa  always  gave  us  a little 
pocket-money  on  Saturday  night,  and  it  was  given  in  exact 
proportion  to  our  goodness  during  the  week, — the  best  child 
got  most  and  the  worst  got  none. — Any  mark  of  ill  temper 
to  each  other,  any  selfishness  or  greediness,  any  fibbing, 
or  want  of  integrity  in  any  way, — these  were  the  faults 
that  certainly  deprived  us  of  any  pocket-money.  This 
money  we  were  allowed  to  dispose  of  exactly  as  we 
pleased ; but  each  of  us  had  a neat  little  accompt  book, 
in  which  we  were  obliged  to  put  down  every  penny  we 
spent,  and  on  Saturday  to  cast  up  the  sum  and  show  it  to 
papa.  Saturday  night  was  almost  always  a very  happy 
one  to  us. — It  was  the  only  night  of  the  week  that  papa 
was  able  to  be  at  home,  and  mamma  used  to  play  and  papa 
danced  with  us,  and  made  such  fun  : and  if,  during  the 
week,  we  had  all  kept  out  of  the  black  book,  we  had  a 


A mother’s  offering. 


103 


little  supper ; and  Henry  sat  at  the  bottom  of  the  table, 
and  Mary  at  the  head,  and  acted  a big  lady  and  gentleman : 
papa  and  mamma  sat  at  the  fire,  and  often  they  took  such 
fits  of  laughing  at  our  little  nonsense  ! 

One  of  the  most  delightful  sources  of  amusement  we 
had,  was  a little  post  office,  Papa  and  mamma  were  very 
anxious  that  we  should  all  learn  to  write  well,  and  easily  : 
I don’t  mean  merely  to  write  a pretty  hand ; but  to  express 
ourselves  correctly,  and  without  the  great  difficulty  which 
so  many  children  and  young  people  feel  when  they  are 
obliged  to  write  a letter.  They  wisely  thought,  that  nothing 
makes  this  or  any  thing  else,  easy,  but  constant  practice : 
so  they  established  a post-office.  It  was  a drawer  at  the 
top  of  the  nursery  stairs ; there  was  a slit  in  it,  by  which 
we  put  in  our  letters,  and  when  we  went  to  call  for  letters, 
we  took  the  key  and  opened  the  drawer  and  took  out  what 
was  for  us.  The  rule  was  that  we  were  not  to  write  more 
nor  less,  than  one  letter  in  the  day,  and  to  each  of  our  bro- 
thers and  sisters  in  succession  : so  that  we  wrote  a letter 
to  each,  once  every  week. — Supposing  it  was  Mary  that 
wrote,  she  wrote  to  Bertha  on  Monday — to  Henry  on  Tues- 
day— to  me  on  Wednesday — to  Ellen  on  Thursday,  and 
to  Adolphus  on  Friday.  John  was  too  little  to  write,  or 


104 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


be  written  to,  so  we  wrote  none  on  Saturdays  at  all.  Ber- 
tha’s letters  were  not  put  into  the  little  post-office,  for  you 
know  she  was  in  Edinburgh ; mamma  sent  them  all  to  her 
in  a parcel  every  week,  and  she  answered  them  the  same 
way.  At  first  the  writing  of  these  letters  was  a little  diffi- 
cult to  us,  but  it  soon  grew  quite  easy,  and  so  delightful, 
that  it  was  a constant  source  of  pleasure  to  us.  If  we  saw 
or  heard  any  thing  curious  when  we  were  out,  we  took 
good  care  not  to  tell  each  other,  but  kept  it  as  a good  sub- 
ject for  our  first  letter.  At  the  end  of  every  month,  papa 
looked  over  all  the  letters  that  had  passed  between  us,  and 
for  every  good  one,  that  is  to  say,  every  one  that  was  clean 
and  prettily  written,  well  expressed,  and  no  words  in  it 
wrong  spelt,  we  got  a white  ticket;  and  whoever  had  most 
tickets,  was  allowed  on  the  first  day  of  the  next  month,  to 
write  a letter  to  papa  and  mamma,  who  answered  their 
letter,  and  always  sent  some  little  pretty  present  along  with 
it,  as  an  encouragement  to  be  still  more  attentive  and 
careful. 

I think  it  was  Henry  who  most  frequently  got  these,  not 
only  because  he  was  the  eldest,  but  because  he  was  a very 
sedate,  wise  little  gentleman,  who  spoke  little  and  thought 
much.  Mary  was  a gentle,  modest  little  girl.  Ellen  was 


A mother’s  offering. 


105 


a great  romp,  and  we  thought  her  not  very  good-natured, 
and  rather  inclined  to  be  greedy.  Adolphus  was  a merry 
thoughtless,  good-natured  little  fellow,  who  was  always 
getting  into  scrapes,  and  yet  we  were  all  particularly  fond 
of  him,  he  was  so  open-hearted  and  so  generous.  Harriet 
was  something  like  him,  but  she  was  very  clever,  and  al- 
ways saying  such  droll  things  that  set  us  all  a-laughing. 
She  was  very  little  of  her  age,  and  we  used  to  make  great 
fun  of  that ; but  for  all  her  littleness,  she  sometimes  out- 
stripped us  all  at  the  lessons  ! I think  you  will  almost  be 
able  to  find  out  these  different  characters  of  the  children, 
in  the  letters  which  I am  now  going  to  copy  for  your 
amusement.  Mamma  kept  them  all  in  a little  box,  and 
out  of  it  I have  picked  a few  to  show  you  the  way  we 
went  on.  The  first  is  from 

ELLEN  TO  HENRY. 

Rossville  3d  March , 1803. 

My  Dear  Henry, 

I suppose  you  know  that  it  is  my  birth-day,  and  that 
I am  eight  years  old  to-day.  I went  into  papa  and  mam- 


106 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


ma’s  room  as  soon  as  I was  dressed  this  morning,  because 
I was  quite  sure,  at  least  I thought — I would  get  some 
pretty  present ; for  you  know  on  Mary’s  birth-day  mamma 
gave  her  a nice  needle-book.  I was  in  a great  hurry  to 
get  in,  but  papa  was  not  ready,  and  mamma  was  in  the 
dressing-room,  so  I had  to  wait  till  the  bell  rang,  and  then 
I flew  in ; and  papa  and  mamma  kissed  me,  and  bade  God 
bless  me,  and  wished  me  many  happy  birth-days;  and 
papa  gave  me  a most  beautiful  silver  thimble,  with  my 
name  on  it  in  shining  purple  letters.  He  said  this  present 
was  to  remind  me  I should  be  industrious  and  keep  my 
own  dress  neat.  Mamma  gave  me  a little  pocket,  with  a 
nice  band  to  button  round  my  waist,  and  in  the  pocket 
there  was  a needle  book  like  Mary’s.  I was  quite  delight- 
ed with  my  presents,  and  I have  been  running  about  all  the 
morning  showing  them,  and  begging  every  body  to  give  me 
something  to  put  in  my  pocket.  Adolphus  gave  me  a 
penny,  and  he  said  he  would  have  given  me  more,  but  that 
was  all  he  had  left  of  his  last  Saturday’s  allowance  ; but 
I told  him  it  was  no  matter,  he  could  just  give  me  what 
he  intended  after  next  Saturday ; but  then  he  is  afraid  he 
will  get  none  next  Saturday,  because  he  got  angry  at 
Mary  yesterday,  and  knocked  her  over,  and  broke  her  little 


A mother’s  offering. 


107 


new  china  jug  that  aunt  sent  her,  and  mamma  has  him  in 
the  black  book.  I am  sorry,  sorry  for  that.  Mary  gave 
me  a penny,  and  her  little  painted  box.  Harriet  had  no 
money  at  all,  but  she  gave  me  a little  handkerchief  she  had 
from  mamma  lately  for  being  a good  girl.  I have  sent  my 
pocket  along  with  this,  that  you  may  see  it,  and  put  any 
thing  in  it  you  please  ; you  know  you  are  the  oldest. 

I wish  you  would  pare  Dolly’s  waist  a little,  for  I have 
made  a pair  of  new  corsets  for  her,  and  they  are  rather 
too  tight  for  her.  A little  paring  would  make  them  fit 
nicely.  Let  me  know  by  return  of  post  if  you  will  do  it. 
I am  my  dear  Brother,  your  very  affectionate  Sister, 

Ellen. 


HENRY’S  ANSWER  TO  ELLEN’S  LETTER. 

Rossville , 3 d March , 1803. 

My  Dear  Ellen, 

I have  just  received  your  letter  of  this  date,  and  your 
pocket  along  with  it.  I admire  the  pocket  very  much ; I 
think  it  must  have  given  our  dear  mamma  a great  deal  of 
trouble  to  stitch  it  so  nicely  with  blue  silk.  I suppose  she 


108 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL,  OR, 


intended  the  pocket  as  a hint  to  you,  little  Miss  Nell,  to 
be  more  careful  not  to  be  losing  your  key  and  your  thimble 
so  often.  I have  not  put  any  thing  into  your  pocket  for  two 
reasons,  both  of  which  I think  very  good  ones.  In  the 
first  place,  I have  nothing  to  put,  because,  as  you  know 
very  well,  I spent  all  the  money  I had  on  things  for  the 
cottage,  and  another  reason  is,  that  even  if  I had  any  thing 
I would  not  give  it  to  you,  for  I dont  admire  at  all  the 
greedy  way  you  have  been  going  on  this  morning.  I like 
very  well  when  any  body  is  so  kind  as  to  give  me  a present, 
but  I would  scorn  to  ask  one,  or  force  any  body  to  give 
me  things  as  you  have  done.  Ah  fie  ! to  take  poor  little 
Harriet’s  handkerchief,  and  Mary’s  painted  box,  and  Adol- 
phus’ only  penny,  when  you  knew  he  would  get  none 
next  Saturday — it  was  greedy,  greedy  of  you.  I think, 
indeed,  I shall  give  you  one  thing  by  the  bye,  and 
that  is  a little  good  advjpe.  Go  away  up  to  the  lumber 
room,  and  sit  down  upon  the  old  saddle,  and  think  of  all 
the  sins  you  have  committed  since  your  last  birthday ; 
how  often  you  have  vexed  mamma,  and  how  very  little 
progress  you  have  made  in  your  lessons,  by  what  you  might ; 
and  try  to  resolve  to  be  a better  girl  by  the  time  another 
birthday  comes.  And  I think  this  would  do  you  more  good 


A mother’s  offering. 


109 


than  going  about  plaguing  every  body  with  your  pocket ; 
for  though  they  gave  you  things,  you  may  be  sure  they 
thought  to  themselves,  “ What  a nasty  greedy  thing  that 
Ellen  is  !”  I am,  my  dear  Sister,  yours  affectionately, 

Henry. 

P.  S. — Send  Dolly,  and  I shall  pare  her  waist  if  you 
wish  it ; but  you  know  though  paring  will  make  the  little 
corsets  fit  her,  it  will  make  all  the  clothes  that  fit  her  now 
too  large  for  her,  so  I would  advise  you  rather  to  make 
bigger  corsets  for  her. 


ADOLPHUS  TO  MARY. 

Rossville,  March  3 d.  1803. 

My  Dear  Mary, 

I am  very  sorry  now  that  I wag  so  cruel  to  you  yes- 
terday ; but,  really  I didn’t  intend  to  tumble  you  down ; 
and  I was  quite  sorry  when  I saw  your  jug  was  broken. 
Yrou  squalled,  I am  sure,  with  all  your  might.  I hope  your 
wind-pipe  doesn’t  feel  the  worse  of  it  to-day.  The  worst 
of  it  is,  mamma  has  me  in  the  black  book, — and  I was  in 


110 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL ; OR, 


it  last  Saturday,  too.  I am  sure  I wish  I could  be  a good 
boy. 

I send  you  with  this  a little  mill  I have  made  for  you, 
I wish  it  had  prettier  wings,  but  I gave  Ellen  the  penny  I 
intended  to  buy  a sheet  of  coloured  paper  with.  You 
know  the  use  of  it  is  for  winding  up  skeins  of  silk  thread. 
I saw  one  Miss  Beverly  had,  and  I thought  I would  try 
and  make  one  too.  Mamma  thinks  it  very  neat.  I am, 
my  dear  Mary,  your  affectionate  Brother. 

Adolphus. 


MARY’S  ANSWER. 

Rossville , 4 ih  March,  1803. 

My  Dear  Brother, 

I am  much  obliged  to  you  for  your  kind  inquiries  after 
the  health  of  my  wind-pipe. 

I thank  you,  Sir,  it  is  pretty  well  to-day,  notwithstanding 
the  squalling  exercise  you  made  it  take  the  other  day.  I 
assure  you,  I couldn’t  help  screaming  out,  for  my  arm  was 
so  hurt,  and  my  poor  pretty  jug ; but  I wont  say  any  more 
about  it.  I am  sorry  you  are  in  the  black  book  about  it; 


A mother’s  offering. 


Ill 


that  is  a terrible  book  ! I am  much  obliged  to  you  for 
your  mill,  (mamma  says  it  should  be  called  a reel)  and  I 
shall  be  so  glad  to  lend  it  to  mamma  when  she  needs  it,  or 
to  Bertha  when  she  comes  home  ; but  perhaps  she  wont 
care  for  our  things,  she  will  have  so  many  fine  things  of 
her  own. 

Do  you  know  there  was  such  fun  in  the  dancing-school 
to-day,  after  you  went  out.  Johnny  Orr  was  dancing  with 
our  Harriet,  and  he  was  giving  a very  fine  skip,  and  he  lost 
his  balance  and  over  he  went  on  the  floor ; to  try  and  save 
himself,  he  made  a grab  at  Helen  Nicolson,  who  was 
nearest  him,  and  pulled  her  down  too  ; and  there  they  roll- 
ed over  one  another,  and  the  whole  school  laughed  out. 
The  master  was  very  angry  at  us,  but  really  we  could  not 
help  it ; the  very  fiddlers  laughed.  You  had  better  inquire 
after  Miss  Helen’s  wind-pipe,  for  I’ll  assure  you  she  did 
not  spare  the  squalling  ; but  I think  it  was  more  for  anger 
than  hurt. 

My  paper  is  quite  done,  you  see,  and  I must  stop ; I am 
ever,  my  dear  Adolphus,  yours  very  sincerely, 


Mary. 


112 


THE  infant’s  annual;  OR, 


HARRIET  TO  ADOLPHUS. 

Rossville , 6th  March , 1803. 

My  Dear  Adolphus, 

So,  Mary  went  and  told  you  of  the  melancholy  ship- 
wreck of  my  poor  partner.  Indeed,  I never  saw  any  thing 
like  it ; his  legs  flew  up  like  the  spokes  of  the  little  reel 
you  made  for  Mary ; but  mamma  was  rather  displeased 
when  she  heard  how  we  laughed  about  it,  and  said  an  ac- 
cident wras  what  might  happen  to  any  of  us.  But  I will 
tell  you  something  to  laugh  at.  When  I was  down  play- 
ing with  the  rabbits  to-day,  I sawr  little  Kitty,  the  kitchen 
girl,  go  into  the  goose’s  house  and  take  an  egg,  and  put  it 
in  her  pocket ; so  I let  her  walk  away  without  seeming  as 
if  I had  seen  her,  and  then  I ran  after  her  with  a stick,  and 
just  as  I passed  her,  I gave  her  a good  smack  over  the 
pocket,  and  broke  the  great  big  egg  all  to  smash.  If  you 
had  seen  how  she  looked  when  it  came  running  down  from 
under  her  petticoats  ! But  there  is  Mary  calling  me  to  go 
to  school,  so  I must  stop.  Believe  me,  my  dear  Adolphus, 
your  ever  affectionate  Sister, 


Harriet. 


A mother’s  offering. 


113 


ADOLPHUS’  ANSWER. 

Rossville,  March  7th,  1803 

My  Dear  Harriet, 

I laughed  very  much  at  you  and  the  goose’s  egg,  but 
I wish  mamma  may  not  be  angry  when  she  hears  of  it ; 
for  I believe,  after  all,  it  was  what  she  calls  mischievous. 
But  surely  it  was  very  bad  of  little  Kitty  to  steal  the  egg. 
I wonder  if  she  wanted  to  sit  upon  it,  and  try  if  she  could 
hatch  a gosling ; because  you  know  she  could  not  eat  it,  at 
least  I never  heard  of  any  body  eating  a goose’s  egg. 

Do  you  know,  my  big  rabbit  has  got  six  young  ones  this 
morning,  and  I am  going  to  give  you  two,  as  soon  as  their 
mother  has  nursed  them  enough  ; so  you  can  give  my  best 
compliments  to  your  old  rabbit,  and  tell  her  to  make  ready 
her  house,  for  two  young  ones  are  coming  to  live  with  her. 
Believe  me,  my  dear  Harriet,  your  very  affectionate 
brother, 

Adolphus. 


8 


114 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


HENRY  TO  BERTHA. 

Rossville , 2d  April  1 803. 

My  Dear  Sister, 

I am  very  happy  to  hear  that  you  are  so  soon  to  be 
home  ; we  shall  all  be  very  glad  to  see  you,  and  I am  sure  so 
will  mamma ; for,  as  I suppose  you  have  got  a great  deal  of 
sense  now,  you  will  be  able  to  assist  her  with  the  little 
ones,  who  are  often  troublesome  enough  to  her.  Adolphus 
and  Harriet  are  two  most  thoughtless  little  beings,  and  al- 
ways getting  into  the  black  book.  They  are  always  very 
good  at  their  lessons,  but  no  sooner  are  they  let  out  to  play 
than  they  are  sure  to  be  at  some  mischief. 

Did  you  ever  hear  what  they  did  one  day  last  summer  ? 
It  was  a warm,  warm  day,  and  they  were  playing  in  the 
glen,  and  there  they  found  a man  lying  sound  asleep  among 
the  trees ; he  was  dressed  like  a gentleman,  and  had 
a new  hat  lying  beside  him;  so  what  did  our  worthy 
brother  and  sister  do,  but  they  took  the  poor  man’s  hat 
down  to  the  burn,  and  they  filled  it  as  full  of  water  as  ever 
it  would  hold ! then  between  them  they  carried  it  back  and 
laid  it  down  close  by  his  head ; and  then  ran  off,  laughing 


A mother’s  offering. 


115 


heartily  at  the  man's  astonishment  when  he  awoke  and 
tried  to  put  on  his  hat ! 

Mamma  was  very  angry  when  she  heard  of  it,  and  pun- 
ished them  both ; but  the  best  punishment  of  all  was,  that 
about  a fortnight  after,  Adolphus  was  going  to  climb  a tree, 
and  he  laid  dowrn  his  fine  new  leather  cap  on  the  ground  ; 
and  when  he  came  down  off  the  tree,  there  lay  the  cap 
full  of  water  ! He  was  in  an  awful  rage,  but  no  one  was 
in  sight,  nor  could  he  ever  discover  who  did  it.  He  came 
roaring  in  to  mamma,  but  she  just  looked  at  him  very  cold- 
ly, and  said,  “ Dear  me,  Dolphy,  you  were  like  to  die  of 
laughing  when  you  filled  the  sleeping  man’s  hat  with  water, 
why  is  it  so  much  less  diverting  when  done  to  yourself  ? 
Go,  go,  sir,  and  let  this  teach  you  never,  either  in  jest  or 
earnest,  to  do  to  another  what  you  would  not  like  done  to 
yourself.”  Poor  Dolphy  went  away  quite  ashamed,  and 
never  said  another  word  about  his  cap. 

I intended  when  I began,  to  have  told  you  a great 
deal  about  our  lessons,  but  this  foolish  story  has  taken  all 
my  paper  and  all  my  time.  I have  begun  astronomy,  and 
am  perfectly  delighted  with  it ; I know  almost  all  the  con- 
stellations already,  and  can  trace  the  zodiac.  I got  a prize 
at  the  quarterly  examination  on  Monday,  it  was  the  one  for 


116 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


assiduity  and  good  behaviour.  Yesterday  was  the  first  of 
April,  we  had  a great  deal  of  fun,  but  Mary  wants  to  tell 
you  about  it  in  her  letter,  so  I wont  say  any  more  about  it. 
They  had  very  near  got  me  sent  a fool’s  errand,  but  just 
when  I was  going  to  scamper  off  to  see  a calf  with  six 
♦legs,  I remembered  what  day  it  was,  and  said  very  com- 
posedly, that  since  the  calf  had  such  a number  of  legs 
more  than  I had,  I thought  it  was  but  fair,  it  should  come 
to  see  me,  instead  of  my  going  to  see  it.  So  they  were 
disappointed  of  their  trick  upon  “ Old  Sobersides,”  as  they 
call  me. 

Farewell,  my  dear  sister;  please  to  give  my  kind  re- 
membrance to  Uncle  and  Aunt,  when  you  see  them,  and 
ever  believe  me,  your  most  affectionate  brother, 

Henry. 

MARY  TO  BERTHA. 

Rossville , 2d  April , 1803. 

Oh,  my  dear  Bertha,  if  you  had  but  been  at  home  yes- 
terday, we  would  all  have  been  so  glad,  for  we  had  such 
laughing.  I don’t  rightly  know  how  to  get  you  told  about 


A mother’s  offering. 


117 


it,  for  it  began  the  night  before.  We  were  all  playing  in 
the  little  parlour,  and  little  Johnny  said  to  Henry,  “ Enny, 
how  big  is  a horse’s  egg  ?”  We  all  burst  out  a-laughing 
at  such  a question,  and  Henry  told  him  horses  didn’t  lay 
eggs.  “ Oh,  siss,”  that’s  his  way  of  saying  yes  ; “ Oh  siss, 
horses  lay  eggs,  Elly  told  me.”  We  laughed  the  double 
more  at  this,  and  Ellen  got  quite  angry,  and  insisted  that 
horses  did  lay  eggs,  for  Kitty  told  her  so.  Henry  said 
she  was  very  foolish  to  believe  every  thing  an  ignorant  lit- 
tle girl  like  Kitty  told  her,  and  that  it  was  perfect  non- 
sense ; but  you  know  Ellen  will  never  give  up  a thing, 
so  she  insisted  and  insisted,  that  horses  did  lay  eggs. 
Henry  asked  if  the  old  horses  clucked  upon  their  eggs  ? 
but  she  was  too  angry  to  answer  him,  and  said  she  would 
go  and  tell  mamma  how  he  was  making  a fool  of  her, — so 
away  she  went,  and  we  all  ran  after  her.  Mamma  could 
not  keep  from  laughing,  and  said  she  was  astonished  how 
a girl  of  Ellen’s  age  could  be  so  silly  as  believe  such 
abominable  nonsense  ; but,  would  you  believe  it ! instead 
of  giving  up  at  once  to  mamma,  Ellen  persisted  in  repeat- 
ing that  Kitty  said  it,  and  Kitty  had  seen  a horse’s  egg. 
Harriet  asked  if  Kitty  put  it  in  her  pocket  when  she  saw 
it,  and  that  made  us  all  laugh  again.  Mamma  said  very 


118 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL;  OR, 


seriously  to  Ellen,  that  to  have  believed  such  absurdity 
was  merely  foolish,  to  persist  in  repeating  it  when  told  it 
was  such,  was  obstinacy;  and  she  had  often  been  told  that 
this  fault  in  her  character  was  one  that  would  make  her 
both  ridiculous  and  unhappy  through  life,  if  she  did  not 
get  cured  of  it. 

Instead  of  begging  pardon,  Ellen  grew  sulky,  and 
wouldn’t  speak  ; she  kept  quite  sulky  all  the  evening  and 
wouldn’t  play  any.  When  mamma  came  to  hear  us  say  our 
• prayers,  she  said  nothing  to  her  at  all,  but  I thought  mam- 
ma looked  very  sorrowfully  at  her,  and  she  didn’t  kiss  her. 
In  the  mean  time,  Henry  had  privately  asked  leave  of 
mamma,  to  play  a trick  upon  Ellen,  the  next  morning,  and 
she  gave  him  leave.  So  what  did  he  do,  but  took  the 
great  big  tremendous  pumpkin,  that  grew  in  the  garden 
last  year,  and  has  been  all  winter  under  the  sideboard,  and 
he  whitened  it  with  chalk  mixed  with  glue  and  water,  till 
it  was  quite  as  white  as  any  egg,  and  you  know  it  is  the 
very  shape  of  one  ; he  left  it  all  night  to  dry,  and  in  the 
morning,  he  got  John  the  ploughman  to  help  him  carry 
it  down  to  the  field  where  the  horses  feed,  and  with  some 
straw  they  made  a great  big  nest  by  the  hedge  and  put  in 
the  pumpkin.  Then  John  said  to  one  of  the  other  ser- 


A MOTHER’S  OFFERING. 


119 


vants  in  Kitty’s  hearing,  “D’ye  know,  I’m  thinking  the 
mare  has  a nest  somewhere  down  about  the  bottom  of 
park.”  Away  went  Kitty  and  told  Ellen  the  great  news, 
and  off  the  two  set  to  seek  for  the  mare’s  nest,  and  to  be 
sure  they  were  not  long  finding  it. 

Up  came  Ellen  flying,  to  bid  us  all  come  and  see  who 
was  right,  she  or  we,  about  horse’s  eggs  ; we  would  surely 
believe  it  when  we  saw  it ! She  was  all  panting  with 
triumph  over  us.  We  all  ran,  and,  to  be  sure,  we  could 
not  conceive  what  great  thing  it  was,  but  none  of  us  would 
believe  it  was  a horse’s  egg,  and  she  would  not  let  us  touch 
it ; she  said  she  would  go  and  tell  Helen  Nicholson  and 
George.  Henry  begged  of  her  not  to  do  that,  but  she 
would  go.  It  was  in  vain  that  Henry  told  her  how  George 
and  Helen  would  laugh  at  her.  “ Laugh  at  her,  indeed !” 
she  said,  “ that  was  all  the  spite  he  had,  because  she  was 
right  and  he  was  wrong.” 

Away  she  went,  and,  yin  a minute,  back  she  came  with 
George  and  Helen,  running  like  to  break  their  legs  ; and 
George  laughing  so,  we  heard  him  long  before  we  saw 
him.  You  know  George  is  a very  boisterous  boy,  so 
he  was  not  so  mindful  as  we  had  been,  about  touch- 
ing the  egg ; he  attacked  it  instantly  and  in  spite  of  all  her 


120 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


screams,  that  he  would  break  it,  “ and  kill  the  young  horse,” 
he  rolled  it  out  of  the  nest ; the  moment  it  came  upon  the 
grass,  all  wet  with  the  morning  dew,  the  chalk  began  to 
rub  off,  and  the  green  colour  of  the  pumpkin  to  shine 
through.  George  soon  laid  it  more  bare,  by  rubbing  it  with 
a bunch  of  wet  grass.  “ The  pumpkin, — the  big  pump- 
kin,” we  all  cried  out ; and  pumpkin,  pumpkin,  we  squall- 
ed, till  you  might  have  heard  that  and  our  shouts  of  laugh- 
ing, I am  sure,  a mile  off ! Poor  Ellen,  after  all,  I was 
very  sorry  for  her,  she  was  so  ashamed  and  mortified ; but 
mamma  said  she  hoped  it  would  have  the  good  effect  of 
making  her  less  obstinate,  and  more  inclined  to  listen  with 
respect  to  the  opinion  of  those  older  than  herself ; and  she 
bid  her,  when  she  felt  inclined  to  fall  into  this  fault  again, 
remember  “the  horse’s  egg.” 

I had  no  great  reason  to  be  proud  of  my  sense  ; for  papa 
said  quite  gravely,  to  mamma,  when  nobody  was  in  the 
room  but  me,  “ The  doctor  will  be  here  at  12  o’clock,  to 
cut  that  horn  off  the  cook’s  head.”  I stared,  and  never  think- 
ing it  was  a trick , off  I ran,  and  asked  cook  when  the  horn 
grew  out  of  her  head  ; and  then  I was  so  laughed  at.  So 
to  revenge  myself,  after  a while,  I rushed  into  the  nursery, 
crying  out,  “ Oh,  come,  come  out,  and  see  this  horrible 


A mother’s  offering. 


121 


thing  ; there’s  a man  begging  at  the  door  with  five  holes  in 
his  face !”  They  all  ran  down  stairs,  and  there  stood  a man 
just  like  other  men ; but  1 laughed  at  them  all,  and  told 
them,  his  mouth,  and  his  two  nostrils,  and  his  two  ears, 
made  five  holes  in  his  face  ! They  were  almost  going  to 
be  angry,  but  mamma  said  that  wasn’t  right,  they  should 
take  it  in  good  humour,  as  I had  done  with  the  cook’s  horn; 
and  she  wefit  to  her  desk  and  brought  out  a very  amusing 
puzzle,  that  was  written  by  aunt  Elizabeth.  We  were  all 
very  much  diverted  with  it,  and  I have  copied  it  for  you. 

We  are  all  very  busy  with  our  gardens  now,  and  we  were 
much  obliged  to  you  for  your  present  of  flower-seeds. 
My  lupins  are  up,  and  so  are  my  cresses  ; but  papa  says 
he  fears  Mr.  Frost  will  come  and  nip  their  noses  some  of 
these  nights.  I am  sure  Ellen’s  seeds  will  never  grow, 
for  she  digs  them  up  every  other  day  to  see  if  they  are 
growing.  Adolphus  and  Harriet  have  their  gardens  all  in 
one  ; and  in  the  middle,  papa  planted  a rose  bush,  that  bears 
white  moss  roses  on  one  branch  and  red  ones  on  the 
other;  that  is  like  their  two  little  selves  growing  on  one 
stem. 

This  is  a most  dreadfully  long  letter.  I dare  say  you 


122 


THE  infant’s  annual  ; OR, 


are  quite  wearied  with  reading  it ; so  I shall  add  no  more, 
but  that  I am,  my  dear  Bertha,  your  affectionate  Sister, 

Mary. 


THE  OLD  WOMAN  OF  BANBURY  CROSS 

A PUZZLE  FOR  APRIL  DAY. 

Have  you  seen  the  old  woman  of  Banbury  Cross, 

Who  rode  to  the  fair  on  the  top  of  her  horse  ; 

And  since  her  return  she  still  tells,  up  and  down, 

Of  the  wonderful  lady  she  saw  when  in  town ; 

She  has  a small  mirror  in  each  of  her  eyes, 

And  her  nose  is  a bellows  of  minikin  size  ; 

There’s  a neat  little  drum  fixed  in  each  of  her  ears, 

Which  beats  a tatoo  to  whatever  she  hears. 

She  has  in  each  jaw  a fine  ivory  mill, 

And  day  after  day  she  keeps  grinding  it  still. 

Both  an  organ  and  flute  in  her  small  throat  are  placed, 

And  they’re  played  by  a steam-engine  worked  in  her  breast. 
But  the  wonder  of  all,  in  her  mouth,  it  is  said, 

She  keeps  a loud  bell  that  might  waken  the  dead  ; 


A mother’s  offering. 


123 


And  so  frightened  the  woman,  and  startled  her  horse, 

That  they  galloped  full  speed  back  to  Banbury  Cross. 

BERTHA  TO  HENRY  AND  MARY. 

Edinburgh , 8th  April , 1803. 

My  dear  Brother  and  Sister, 

I was  very  much  delighted  and  amused  with  both 
your  kind  letters,  and  the  puzzle  for  April  day,  which  I re- 
ceived by  mamma’s  last  parcel.  I am  obliged  to  answer 
them  both  in  one,  because  this  parcel  goes  away  so  soon, 
I have  not  enough  time  to  get  over  all  my  writing.  I wish, 
indeed,  that  I had  been  at  home  on  April  day,  for  I can  as- 
sure you  there  was  no  such  fun  going  on  here  ; nor  have  I 
any  thing  to  tell  you  in  return  that  will  make  you  laugh 
half  as  much  as  your  letters  made  me.  Many  a time 
I think  about  you  all,  and  wonder  to  myself  what  you  are 
doing ; I wish  and  wish,  I were  once  more  among  you. 
Not  but  that  I am  happy  enough,  and  Mrs.  Farren  is  very 
kind  to  me — and  so  is  the  governess,  Miss  Kerr,  but  still 
they  are  not  like  mamma — nor  a school,  like  dear,  dear 
home.  It  is  on  Sunday  I feel  the  difference  most,  for, 


124 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or/ 


though  they  are  very  attentive  in  giving  us  Sunday  lessons 
to  get  by  heart,  I am  sometimes  like  to  cry  when  I think 
how  sweetly  mamma  explains  every  thing  to  us,  and  talks 
to  us  so  affectionately  about  our  duty  to  God  and  each 
other. 

I am  very  glad  to  think  I am  coming  home  so  soon,  and 
yet  there  are  some  of  my  school  fellows  I shall  be  very 
sorry  to  part  with, — they  are  such  very  nice  girls,  and  so 
kind  to  me.  There  is,  however,  one  girl  that  almost  nobody 
likes,  she  is  not  good-natured  or  obliging,  and  she  is  very 
greedy.  Whenever  she  gets  any  money,  she  spends  it  all 
in  sweet  things  for  eating,  and  no  matter  how  much  Mrs. 
Farren  or  Miss  Kerr  say  to  her,  about  what  a foolish  and 
disgusting  wray  this  is  of  spending  her  allowance,  she  still 
does  it,  whenever  she  can  get  the  opportunity.  The  other 
night  she  had  given  one  of  the  servants  a sixpence  to  buy 
her  a rhubarb  tart,  and  she  told  the  servant  to  put  it  into 
her  bed,  just  under  the  folds  of  the  clothes  ; and  the  greedy 
thing  intended  to  eat  it  after  she  was  in  bed.  We  are  only 
allowed  fifteen  minutes  to  get  to  bed,  and  then  Miss  Kerr 
comes  to  see  that  we  are  in  bed,  and  takes  away  our  can- 
dles, and  she  is  angry  if  she  does  not  find  us  in  bed  when 
she  comes.  This  miss  is  very  conceited  as  well  as  greedy, 


A mother’s  offering. 


125 


and  she  had  put  off  a good  deal  of  time  curling  her  hair, 
and  looking  at  herself  in  the  glass,  that  night ; and  when 
she. heard  Miss  Kerr  at  the  door  she  was  in  a great  fright, 
and  jumped  into  bed  in  such  a hurry,  she  quite  forgot  the 
tart,  till  she  felt  she  had  lighted  just  on  the  top  of  it ; and 
its  contents  were  running  all  over  the  bed.  But  this  was  not 
the  end  of  her  misfortunes,  for,  in  looking  about  the  room, 
Miss  Kerr  observed  her  night-dress  lying  on  a chair,  and 
asked  why  she  had  not  put  it  on  ? Miss  tried  to  make  some 
awkward  excuse,  but  Miss  Kerr  turned  down  the  bed- 
clothes, and  ordered  her  to  rise  and  put  it  on  directly. 
Miss  refused,  and  in  the  scuffle,  a bit  of  the  poor  bruised 
tart  peeped  out ; Miss  Kerr  seized  hold  of  it,  and  the 
whole  affair  was  exposed.  Mrs.  Farren  was  sent  for,  and 
such  an  uproar  you  never  heard.  Another  girl  and  I sleep 
in  the  same  room  with  her,  and  we  had  such  an  ado  to 
keep  in  laughing ; for  Mrs.  Farren  allows  no  laughing  at 
each  other : we  lay  stuffing  the  bedclothes  into  our  mouths 
while  the  Tragedy  of  Tart  was  acting;  but  in  spite  of  us, 
some  little  squeaks  got  out ; but  the  ladies  were  luckily 
too  busy  to  notice  us.  Poor  miss  had  to  wear  the  black 
badge  (that  is  what  we  get  on  for  bad  behaviour)  for  three 


126 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL;  OR, 


days ; and  what  was  worse  to  her,  none  of  us  could  look 
at  her  without  all  but  laughing  out. 

I have  told  mamma  all  about  my  lessons,  so  I shall  not 
repeat  it  to  you,  as  I asked  her  to  read  that  part  of  my  let- 
ter to  you.  I was  very  happy  indeed  to  hear  of  your  get- 
ting the  prize,  my  dear  Henry,  it  would  make  papa  and 
mamma  so  glad. 

There  is  to  be  a grand  struggle  for  a prize  of  the  same 
sort  here  too.  It  is  a very  beautiful  bracelet  of  Mrs.  Far- 
ren’s  own  work ; it  will  be  decided  week  after  next.  I 
wish,  I wish  I could  gain  it ; that  I might  bring  it  home  to 
papa  and  mamma  too  ! 

I am  sure  you  wont  say  I have  given  you  a short  letter 
this  time.  I have  spent  all  of  my  playtime  in  writing  it. 
Kiss  all  the  little  ones  for  me,  particularly  dear  little  John- 
ny. And  believe  me  ever  and  ever,  my  dear  Mary  and 
Henry,  your  most  affectionate  sister 


Bertha. 


A mother’s  offering. 


127 


Such,  my  dear  little  readers,  are  a few  of  the  letters 
that  gave  so  much  pleasure  to  our  childhood.  I do  not 
say  that  they  were  all  as  good  as  these,  because  I have  pick- 
ed out  the  best  and  the  most  amusing ; but  still  there  were 
none  of  them  very  bad,  and  even  little  Ellen’s  big  text  ones 
are  clean  and  neatly  written,  and  folded  very  nicely. 

I would  advise  you  to  try  a post-office  : for  I am  sure 
you  would  find  it  a great  amusement ; and  all  your  lives 
you  will  feel  the  advantage  of  the  early  facility  it  would 
give  you  in  writing  letters.  I have  often  seen  great  big 
boys  and  girls  in  perfect  misery  when  they  had  a letter  to 
write,  and  I have  thought  to  myself,  they  have  no  little 
“ Post-Office !” 

There  was  a pleasure  that  we  had  in  winter,  when  we 
were  cut  off  from  many  others,  (such  as  our  gardens  and 
our  cottage,)  and  that  was  the  making  of  our  new-year’s 
gifts.  This  was  a very  great  and  important  business — and, 
like  every  thing  else,  it  greatly  depended  upon  the  pink 
and  the  black  book.  I should  have  told  you,  that  always  on 
Saturday  night,  when  papa  looked  over  the  books,  besides 
giving  the  best  child  the  largest  allowance  of  money,  this 
happy  child  got  a white  ticket,  with  its  name  on  it  on  one 
side,  and  the  words  “ New-Year’s  Day,”  on  the  other.  On 


128 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


the  first  day  of  November,  every  year,  he  counted  all  these 
tickets,  and  whoever  had  most,  received  the  largest  sum 
to  buy  new-year’s  gifts  for  their  brothers  and  sisters,  and 
papa  and  mamma.  The  largest  prize  was  a guinea,  and 
they  grew  less  and  less,  down  to  the  child  who  had  fewest 
tickets,  and  that  one  got  least  of  all.  We  were  allowed 
if  we  chose,  to  save  our  weekly  allowance,  and  add  it  to 
this  to  help  our  presents.  What  a busy  time  we  had  of 
it,  till  New-Year’s  day  came  ! — so  many  secrets  to  keep  ! 
for  it  was  a great  secret,  whatever  we  were  going  to  give — 
that  those  we  gave  to,  might  get  such  a delightful  surprise  ! 
We  had  so  many  pincushions,  and  needle-books,  and  work 
bags  to  make  and  ornament ; and  then,  besides  our  own 
presents,  we  sometimes  had  to  help  Henry  and  Adolphus, 
if  there  was  any  thing  about  their  presents  that  needed 
sewing ; and  they,  in  return,  helped  us  when  there  was 
any  thing  to  nail  or  glue  about  ours. 

We  knew  that  papa  and  mamma  preferred  a present  of 
our  own  work  to  any  thing  else  we  could  give  them  ; and 
that  made  us  very  anxious  to  learn  to  work  neatly.  Mary 
and  Harriet  always  tried  to  sew  on  muslin  something  for 
mamma  ; and  if  their  little  labours  were  not  quite  so  beau- 
tiful as  she  could  have  bought,  still  I know  she  wore  them 


A mother’s  offering. 


129 


with  far,  far  more  pleasure.  We  were  always  on  the  alert 
to  learn  little  neat  works  from  any  body  that  could  teach 
us.  When  Bertha  came  from  Edinburgh,  she  taught  us  a 
great  many  nice  things,  and  we  had  a very  charming  new- 
year’s  day  that  year.  We  scarcely  ever  slept  any  the 
night  before,  and  when  the  important  morning  came,  what 
happiness  it  was  to  run  about,  each  with  all  their  presents 
in  their  lap,  kissing  each  other,  and  wishing  many  happy 
new-years,  and  giving  every  one  the  things  we  had  so 
much  pleasure  in  making  or  buying — and  then,  when  papa’s 
bell  rung,  we  all  rushed  into  his  room,  and  there  was  such 
a jumping  with  joy.  Papa  and  mamma  always  gave  each 
of  us  a present ; papa  generally  gave  us  books  or  some- 
thing connected  with  our  lessons — mamma  always  gave 
us  something  ornamental,  and  at  the  same  time  useful. 
And  to  this  day  we  possess  almost  all  these  beautiful  me- 
morials of  a mother’s  love,  and  the  happy  days  of  child- 
hood. When  I look  at  them,  my  eyes  fill  with  tears — I 
seem  once  more  to  see  those  dearly  beloved  parents,  long 
since  removed  to  another  and  a better  world.  I seem  again 
to  feel  theirwarm  kisses  upon  my  cheek — to  hear  theirvoice 
of  tenderness  and  affection ; and  I lift  my  heart  to  God,  and 
pray  that  I may  be  enabled  to  remember  and  act  up  to  all 

9 


130 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


their  good  and  pious  instructions.  If  you  wish  to  be  as 
happy  as  we  were,  my  dear  children,  you  must  try  to  be  as 
good  and  obedient  to  your  parents.  And  always  remem- 
ber this — you  are  now  forming  the  habits  which  will  ac- 
company you  into  life  here  and  eternity  hereafter.  If  in 
your  childhood  you  are  froward,  passionate,  selfish,  or  ma- 
lignant, and  you  make  no  struggle  in  yourself  to  overcome 
these  faults  ; then  froward,  passionate,  selfish,  malignant, 
and  unhappy  you  will  be  as  men  and  women.  I know 
that  children  often  comfort  themselves,  when  they  are  bad 
by  thinking, — “ Oh  I’ll  be  good  enough  wThen  I’m  a grown 
gentleman,”  or  “ when  I’m  a big  lady.”  Now  there  can- 
not be  a more  false  or  foolish  notion.  You  might  just  as 
well  suppose,  that  a little  bramble,  when  it  grew  big,  would 
grow  into  a rose-bush  ! No,  no  ; depend  upon  it,  if  you 
are  a bad  or  unamiable  boy  or  girl,  you  will  be  a bad  and 
unamiable  man  or  woman.  And  you  must  also  remember 
that  your  papa  and  mamma,  or  whoever  fills  their  place, 
cannot  cure  you  of  your  faults.  They  can  point  them  out 
to  you,  punish  you,  and  exhort  you  ; but  unless  you  exert 
yourself  \ and  pray  earnestly  to  God  for  strength  of  mind 
to  amend  them,  all  the  lectures  and  all  the  punishments 
they  can  give  you  will  have  no  effect  in  making  you  better. 


A mother’s  offering. 


131 


There  is  an  old  proverb — “ One  man  can  take  a horse 
to  the  water,  but  twenty  can’t  make  him  drink.”  So  it  is 
with  children — parents  can  bring  you  “ to  the  water,”  that 
is  to  say,  they  can  bestow  pains  in  correcting  your  faults, 
and  in  furnishing  you  with  all  the  means  of  instruction  ; 
such  as  schools,  books,  and  teachers  : — but  never  yet  was 
any  child,  since  the  world  began,  made  good,  or  wise,  or 
accomplished,  unless  it  drank  of  the  water — that  is,  added 
its  own  earnest  endeavours , (aided,  as  I have  said,  by  a 
blessing  daily  asked  from  God,)  to  make  you  all  that  your 
kind  and  affectionate  parents  desire  to  see  you, — all  that 
you  must  be  ere  you  hope  to  inhabit  those  everlasting  man- 
sions which  will  endure  when  this  world  and  its  fashion  has 
passed  away  from  you — from  me — and  from  all  living. 


132 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL;  OR, 


ANECDOTES  OF  DOGS  AND  OTHER  ANIMALS. 

One  day  soon  after  Annette  Mowbray  had  been  told 
how  her  life  was  saved  by  “ Poor  Bessy,”  she  Avas,  as  usual 
in  the  forenoon,  seated  on  her  little  stool,  sewing  beside 
her  mamma,  who  was  sewing  also,  braiding  a pretty  frock 
as  a birthday  present  for  her  little  girl.  They  had  been 
silent  for  a good  while, — and  at  last  Annette  said,  “ Mam- 
ma I have  been  thinking  about  poor  Bessy  ; did  you  ever 
hear  of  such  a sensible  dog  as  Bessy  ?” 


“ Oil  yes,”  replied  her  mamma,  “ I have  heard  of  many 


A mother’s  offering. 


133 


dogs  even  more  remarkable  than  poor  Bessy, — dogs  who 
seemed  almost  possessed  of  reason  as  well  as  instinct.” 

“ Mamma,”  said  Annette,  “ what  is  reason,  and  what  is 
instinct  ? I don’t  understand  those  two  words.” 

“ My  dear  love,”  said  Mrs.  Mowbray,  “it  is  perhaps 
not  very  easy  to  make  so  young  a child  as  you  are,  under- 
stand already  what  these  wrords  mean,  but  I shall  try. 
You  have  seen  a birds’  nest?”  “Yes  many  birds’  nests, 
mamma,  more  than  twenty.”  “Well  then,  my  love,  you 
must  have  observed  with  what  exquisite  neatness  they  are 
made, — woven  in  a way  no  human  hand  could  do  ; and 
each  different  kind  of  nest  furnished  within,  exactly  in  the 
manner  that  will  be  most  suitable  and  agreeable  to  the 
little  tender  young  ones  when  they  break  the  shell  and 
come  forth.” 

“ Yes,  mamma,”  said  Annette,  “ I have  observed  that 
every  different  sort  of  bird  has  a different  sort  of  nest,  but 
I did  not  know  that  was  the  reason ; I noticed  the  black- 
bird’s nest,  in  the  garden  hedge,  was  quite  bare  and  cold- 
looking, just  plastered  smooth  with  clay,  and  the  poor  pret- 
ty eggs  lying  on  it,  so  I thought,  poor  blackbird  ! you  could 
find  no  feathers  for  your  nest  to  keep  your  little  young 
children  warm,  I will  give  you  some ; and  so,  mamma,  I 


134 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


picked  some  of  the  pretty  soft  feathers  out  of  my  doll’s 
bed,  and  run  and  put  them  into  the  nest,  and  I thought  the 
blackbird  would  think  I was  a good  little  girl  to  do  that ; 
but  next  day,  when  I went  to  look,  Mr.  blackbird  had 
tossed  all  my  feathers  out  upon  the  ground,  and  there  was 
his  nest  as  cold  and  bare  as  ever  ! I thought  he  must  be 
a very  stupid  bird  to  do  so,  mamma,  and  very  careless 
about  his  little  ones  ; not  like  the  wren  that  built  its  little 
nest  in  the  garden  arbour,  and  quite  lined  it  with  nice  soft 
warm  feathers.” 

“ Yet,  my  dear  Annette,  each  of  the  birds  did  exactly 
that  which  was  best  for  its  young.  The  blackbird’s  little 
young  children,  when  they  first  come  out  of  the  egg,  are 
covered  with  long  woolly  black  hair,  which  keeps  them 
sufficiently  warm,  and  if  the  parent  bird  were  to  line  its 
nest  with  any  thing  soft,  the  poor  little  things  would  be  like 
to  suffocate  with  heat,  so  that  the  cold  hard  nest  which 
offended  you,  was  the  most  comfortable  dwelling-house  Mr. 
blackbird  could  have  provided  for  his  family ; and  had  he 
kept  in  your  feathers,  his  children  would  not  have  liked 
them.  On  the  other  hand,  the  young  of  the  wren  came 
out  of  the  egg  quite  naked,  little  uncovered  tender  things  ; 
and  were  their  house  not  quite  stuffed  with  soft  downs 


A mother’s  offering. 


135 


and  feathers,  among  which  they  nestle  till  their  own  fea- 
thers grow,  they  would  die  of  cold.  In  the  same  way,  every 
other  sort  of  bird  exactly  adapts  its  nest  in  the  best  man-’ 
ner  to  the  wants  and  comforts  of  its  future  family.”  “ But, 
mamma,”  interrupted  Annette,  “ how  do  they  know  before- 
hand what  like  their  children  are  to  be  ? Do  their  own 
papa  and  mamma  birds  tell  them  ?”  “ No,  my  dear,  the 

closest  observation  has  never  been  able  to  discover  that 
birds  or  animals  receive  instructions  of  any  kind  from  their 
parents  , — as  soon  as  birds  are  able  to  fly  a yard  or  two, 
they  quit  the  nest  and  soon  separate  from  their  parents  ; 
and  they  never  mind  one  another  any  more  than  they  do 
other  birds,  yet  every  successive  pair  of  birds  build  a nest 
of  equal  neatness  and  beauty,  of  exactly  the  same  mate- 
rials as  did  its  parents,  and  adapted  in  the  same  delightful 
manner  for  the  future  little  tenants.  Nay,  were  you  to 
take  a young  blackbird  and  a young  wren  out  of  the  nests 
you  speak  of,  bring  them  up  in  the  same  cage,  away  from 
all  other  birds,  and  when  they  were  old  enough  to  wish  to 
build  a nest,  place  within  their  reach  the  different  materi- 
als of  which  each  makes  its  nest  in  the  garden,  mix  them 
together  as  much  as  you  please,  the  blackbird  will  pick 
up  the  coarse  straws  or  withered  reeds,  weave  them  into 


136 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR, 


a nest  as  his  papa  did  before  him,  and  then  plaster  it  with- 
in with  clay,  that  he  wets  and  works  with  his  little  bill, 
till  it  is  quite  smooth.  The  wren  will  pick  out  for  his  little 
cottage  the  green  moss  and  the  feathers,  and  make  it  more 
neatly  than  you  could  do  any  thing  your  mamma  had  spent 
years  in  trying  to  teach  you.” 

“ And,  mamma,”  said  Annette,  looking  with  great  asto- 
nishment, “ how  do  they  learn — what  teaches  them  ?” 

“ They  are  taught  by  instinct, — which  is  the  name  we 
give  the  sense  to  guide  themselves,  which  our  blessed  and 
bountiful  Creator  has  given  to  the  brute  creation,  instead 
of  that  brighter  and  nobler  reason  which  he  has  given  to  us 
alone.” 

“ But  wThat  is  the  difference,  my  dear  mamma,  between 
instinct  and  reason  ?” 

“ The  difference  is  this  : an  animal  that  acts  from  mere 
instinct,  never  thinks ; it  is  driven , as  it  were,  to  do  what 
it  does,  not  from  choice,  but  by  the  force  of  a power  over 
which  it  has  no  control but  as  our  God  delights  in  the 
happiness  of  all  his  creatures,  he  has  caused  most  of  the 
actions  thus  performed  to  give  the  animal  great  pleasure, 
and  from  this  ive  often  are  led  to  speak  and  think  as  if 
birds  and  beasts  did  such  and  such  things  to  please  them- 


A mother’s  offering. 


137 


selves,  when,  in  truth,  they  cannot  help  doing  them,  any 
more  than  the  wheel  when  it  is  turned  round  can  help 
drawing  along  the  carriage  to  which  it  belongs.” 

“ But  surely,”  said  Annette,  “ surely,  my  dear  mamma, 
a bird  thinks  when  it  builds  such  a pretty  little  nest,  and 
tries  to  do  it  as  well  as  it  can?” 

“No,  my  love,”  said  her  mamma;  “birds  certainly  do 
not  think.  Every  bird,  ever  since  the  world  began,  has 
built  exactly  the  same  kind  of  nest  as  did  the  first  bird  of 
each  kind,  without  variety,  alteration,  or  improvement ; and 
when  an  accident  happens  to  it,  or  they  meet  any  unex- 
pected interruption,  they  are  quite  unable  to  fall  on  any 
new  contrivance  to  repair  the  damage  or  overcome  the  dif- 
ficulty ; so  they  just  go  and  leave  that  nest  and  begin 
another  in  a different  place.  Whatever  instinct  enables 
them  to  do,  they  do  to  perfection,  and  cannot  do  one  single 
thing  more.  Reason,  with  which  we  are  gifted,  is  a very 
superior  power.” 

“ Indeed,  mamma,”  interrupted  Annette,  “ I think  in- 
stinct must  be  a great  deal  better  than  reason.  I’m  sure 
if  I had  been  taken  away  from  you  when  I was  little,  and 
put  in  a cage,  I would  not  when  I was  big  have  known 
what  to  do  when  I wanted  a house.  If  we  had  an  instinct 


138 


the  infant’s  annual;  or 


of  French  and  music,  and  all  our  lessons,  how  much  trou- 
ble it  would  save  both  you  and  me.” 

“ My  dear  child,  that  is  a very  curious  speech,  and  you 
will  feel  that  it  is  so,  if  you  consider  a moment  that  it  is 
reason,  or  the  power  of  thinking,  alone  that  enables  us  to 
know  that  there  is  a God — to  read  his  Holy  Word,  and  learn 
to  do  his  will, — and,  by  entirely  loving  and  serving  him 
while  we  live,  to  prepare  ourselves  to  go,  after  we  die,  to 
another  world ; where,  he  has  assured  us,  we  shall  enjoy 
happiness  and  delights  so  great,  that  we  cannot  just  now 
even  imagine  any  thing  so  very,  very  enchanting.  Rea- 
son, too,  enables  us  to  love  each  other ; and  I am  sure  you 
do  not  need  to  be  told  how  much  of  our  happiness  flows 
from  mutual  love.” 

“ But,  mamma,”  said  Annette,  “ beasts  and  birds  love 
each  other.” 

“ Yes,  to  a certain  degree  they  do,  but  very  rarely  from 
any  other  cause  than  the  instinct  which  makes  them  love 
their  young  while  they  are  helpless,  and  sometimes  con- 
tinue that  love  a little  longer  than  their  infancy ; but  did 
you  ever  hear  of  a bird,  or  a beast,  that  loved  or  honoured 
its  parent  when  it  no  longer  needed  to  be  fed  or  kept 
warm  by  it  ?” 


A MOTHER’S  OFFERING. 


139 


“No,  mamma,”  said  Annette  laughing,  “ I never  did. 
I notice  that  pussy  soon  gives  over  caring  for  her  kittens 
when  they  are  big  enough  to  eat  meat ; and,  at  last,  she 
cuffs  their  ears  if  they  come  near  her,  or  plague  her  ; and 
then  they  give  over  caring  for  her ; and,  the  other  day, 
when  her  poor  foot  was  crushed  in  the  door,  though  it  was 
bleeding  much,  and  she  squalled  out  most  piteously,  neither 
of  her  big  kittens  cared  a bit — the  one  lay  dozing  at  the 
fire,  and  never  rose  to  look  at  its  mother’s  foot,  and  the 
other  kept  eating  a bit  of  fish  it  had  got ; so,  mamma,  I 
whipped  them  both,  to  learn  them  to  be  more  good  to  their 
mother  : wasn’t  that  quite  right  of  me  ?” 

“No  my  dear  child,  it  was  not  quite  right , though  you 
did  not  do  it  for  wrong.  The  kittens  acted  just  as  their 
instinct  directed  them.  They  no  longer  need  their  mother, 
and  they  no  longer  love  her  ; nor  do  they  at  all  recollect 
the  care  she  took  of  them  when  they  were  helpless.  You 
have  reason  instead  of  instinct ; therefore  you  will  always 
love  your  mamma,  even  when  you  no  longer  need  her  care, 
because  you  will  look  back,  and  remember  all  her  love  that 
is  past ; and  you  know  that  God  has  commanded  you  to 
love  and  honour  your  parents  as  long  as  you  live.  Do 


140 


the  infant’s  annual;  or, 


you  now  understand  the  difference  between  instinct  and 
reason  ?” 

“ Yes,  mamma,  I think  I do.  Instinct  can  just  do  cer- 
tain settled  things,  and  nothing  more  ; and  reason  thinks, 
and  contrives,  and  feels,  and  can  remember  what  is  past, 
and  think  of  what  will  come.” 

“ An  exceedingly  good  explanation,  my  dear  child,”  said 
Mrs.  Mowbray,  kissing  her  little  daughter.  “ Instinct  could 
never  have  contrived  a watch,  or  a steamboat,  or  painted  a 
picture, — nor  can  it  feel  pleasure  in  any  thing  but  what 
adds  to  its  immediate  bodily  enjoyment.” 

“ But,  mamma,  you  said  you  had  heard  of  dogs  that 
acted  as  if  they  had  reason  as  well  as  instinct ; 1 would 

like  very  much  to  hear  about  them.” 

“ Yery  well,  I shall  tell  you  some  very  curious  anecdotes 
of  dogs  that  I have  met  with  myself,  and  also  some  I have 
read  in  books.  When  I married  your  papa,  I had  a very  fa- 
vourite little  white  dog,  I had  had  it  for  a great  many  years, 
and  I intended  to  have  brought  it  here  with  me,  but  I found 
that  your  papa  did  not  like  dogs  in  the  house,  so  I gave 
poor  little  Cayenne  as  a present  to  one  of  your  aunts.  You 
know  your  aunt’s  house  is  near  thirty  miles  from  this  house 
and  the  steam-boats  pass  and  repass  both.  Some  weeks 


A mother’s  offering. 


141 


after  I had  been  living  here,  I was  very  much  asto- 
nished to  see  little  Cayenne  come  bounding  and  dan- 
cing with  joy  into  the  room  ! Where  he  had  come  from 
I could  not  discover,  for  no  one  appeared  with  him.  Next 
day  I had  a letter  from  your  aunt,  in  which  she  told  me 
that  the  day  before  she  had  whipped  Cayenne  and  locked 
him  up  for  being  ill-natured,  and  that  when  she  opened  his 
house  to  let  him  out,  he  was  sulky,  and  would  not  stir  out 
of  it ; so  she  left  him,  and  soon  after  she  found  the  house 
empty,  and  he  had  never  been  seen,  and  she  feared  he  was 
stolen.  It  appeared  that  Cayenne  had  not  liked  to  be 
punished,  and  had  gone  of  his  own  accord  to  the  village 
quay,  and  shipped  himself  on  board  a steam-boat,  for  the 
captain  saw  him  come  up  out  of  the  little  boat  into  the 
steamer,  and  told  me  that  he  sat  quite  sedately  on  deck 
the  whole  voyage,  never  offering  to  stir  at  any  of  the  four 
towns  they  stop  at,  before  they  reach  this  ; but  as  soon  as 
the  boat  drew  near  the  quay  here,  he  began  to  bestir 
himself,  and  was  the  first  passenger  that  landed.” 

“ Oh,  mamma,”  cried  Annette,  “ how  very  strange ; but 
had  he  never  been  in  this  house  before  ?” 

“ Yes,  darling,  he  had,  when  I came  here  one  of  your 


142  THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL;  OR, 

aunts  came  with  me,  and  went  home  in  a few  days  taking 
Cayenne  with  her.” 

“ Had  you  ever  whipped  him,  mamma  V 1 
“ No,  never  ; I was  very  fond  of  him.” 

“ Then,  mamma,  surely  Cayenne  could  think — for  you 
see  he  remembered  that  you  had  never  whipped  him,  so 
he  did  not  choose  to  stay  where  he  was  whipped,  and  he 
would  think,  6 I’ll  go  into  a boat,  and  go  to  my  own  dear, 
dear  mistress,  that  never  punished  me — I wont  stay  with 
these  people,’ — wasn’t  that  it  mamma  ?” 

“ It  looks  as  if  Cayenne  had  thought  something  of  the 
kind ; but  who  taught  or  told  him  what  boat  to  find,  to 
avoid  entering  one  going  down  instead  of  up  the  river,  and 
to  avoid  landing  at  any  wrong  place  ?” 

“ It  is  very  wonderful,  mamma,  indeed — what  became 
of  Cayenne,  mamma  ?” 

“ He  was  stolen  at  last,  and  never  heard  of  more.” 

“ That  was  very  sad.  Tell  me  another  story  of  dogs, 
mamma.” 

“ There  was  a friend  of  mine  who  had  a little  fat  brown 
terrier,  and  a fine  large  black  cat — you  know  cats  and 
dogs  hate  each  other  very  much,  and  whenever  dogs  can 
get  an  opportunity  of  worrying  and  killing  cats  they  do  it. 


A mother’s  offering. 


143 


However,  little  Oscar  and  the  cat  had  been  so  long  in  the 
same  house,  that  they  seldom  quarrelled.  Oscar  had  a 
nice  little  blue  painted  house  in  the  back  court,  with  a nice 
warm  mat  in  it  for  him  to  sleep  upon.  It  appears  that 
Mrs.  Puss  had  admired  Oscar’s  house,  for  one  morning, 
when  he  was  out,  she  took  possession  of  it  for  herself  and 
four  little  blind  kittens.  When  Oscar  came  back,  he  was 
much  surprised  to  find  his  house  occupied  : he  barked  and 
railed  in  at  his  door,  but  all  in  vain.  Pussy  lay  purring  to 
her  kittens  quite  unconcerned.  So  at  last,  finding  he  could 
make  no  better  of  it,  Oscar  crept  in  beside  her,  and  they 
continued  to  live  in  the  house  together  quite  happily.  Os- 
car was  as  fond  of  the  kittens  as  she  was.  If  she  licked 
one,  which  you  know  is  the  only  way  cats  or  dogs  have 
of  washing  and  cleaning  their  little  ones,  he  would  lick 
another,  and  turn  it  over  with  his  paw,  and  make  such  fun. 
As  soon  as  the  kittens  could  eat,  he  seemed  to  think  that 
there  was  no  occasion  for  Mrs.  Pussy  remaining  any  long- 
er in  his  house.  So  he  drove  her  out  and  never  would  al- 
low her  to  come  back  again ; but  he  kept  the  kittens,  and 
redoubled  his  affectionate  attention  to  them.  He  never 
would  eat  himself  till  they  had  ate  as  much  as  they  could ; 
and  when  it  was  a good  sunny  day,  he  carried  them  one  by 


144 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL  ; OR 


one,  in  his  mouth,  quite  softly,  out  to  the  green,  and  then 
he  would  play  with  them,  running  and  chasing  and  tum- 
bling about  so  merrily ; and  then,  when  he  thought  they  had 
played  enough,  he  carried  them  all  back  to  the  house  the 
same  way ; but  when  it  was  a bad,  wet,  or  cold  day,  he 
would  not  let  them  out  at  all ; if  one  run  out  itself,  he 
would  run  out  after  it,  and  bring  it  back  in  his  mouth.  In- 
stead of  constantly  following  every  body  about  the  house, 
poor  Oscar  could  think  of  nothing  but  his  kittens ; and 
he  staid  in  his  house  all  night  and  all  day  to  take  care  of 
them.” 

“ Oh,  mamma,”  cried  Annette,  “ that  was  very  funny 
—and  what  became  of  them  ?” 

“ Indeed,  my  love,  I am  sorry  to  say,  the  family  Oscar 
belonged  to  were  so  cruel  as  to  take  his  kittens  from  him, 
and  send  them  away ; and  poor  little  affectionate  Oscar 
pined  and  pined  with  grief  till  he  died.” . ® 

“ Oh,  mamma,  that  was  cruel,  cruel ; .1  would  not  have 
taken  his  kittens  from  him,  dear  little  good  dog.  Do  you 
remember  any  more  dog  stories  mamma  ?” 

“ Yes,  my  love,  but  your  sewing-hour  is  done,  and  you 
must  go  to  your  arithmetic.  To-morrow,  if  you  are  a good 


&J, 


Oscar  playing  witliMs klttcris . 


A MOTHER’S  OFFERING. 


145 


girl,  I shall  tell  you  more.”  Annette  kissed  her  mamma, 
and  jumped  away  for  her  slate. 

Next  day,  as  soon  as  Annette  and  her  mamma  were 
seated  at  work,  Annette  said,  “ now,  dear  mamma,  I have 
been  a good  girl  to-day,  have  I not  ?” 

“ Yes,  my  love,  I observed  with  great  pleasure  that  you 
were  trying  to  be  so.” 

“ Well,  mamma,  will  you  tell  me  some  more  dog  stories ? 
do,  dear  mamma,  1 like  so  much  to  hear  true  stories.” 

“ Indeed,  my  dear  Annette,”  said  Mrs.  Mowbray,  laugh- 
ing, “ at  this  rate  you  will  soon  exhaust  my  store  of  dog 
stories ; but  in  a book  which  I shall  give  you  whenever 
you  are  able  to  understand  it,  you  will  find  an  inexhausti- 
ble fund  of  amusement  in  the  account  of  different  ani- 
mals ; their  habits,  propensities,  and  ways  of  living.” 

“ What  is  the  book  called,  mamma  ?”  said  Annette 
eagerly. 

“ Trimmer’s  Natural  History.  It  was  written  by  a good 
lady,  solely  for  children ; and  is  at  once  most  interesting 
and  instructive.” 

“ Oh,  mamma,”  sighed  Annette,  “ I wish  I were  old 
enough  to  read  it.” 

“ Nay,  my  child,”  said  her  mamma,  “ instead  of  idly 

10 


146 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL ; OR, 


wishing  to  be  old  enough,  rather  wish  and  try  to  get  sense 
enough.” 

“ But,  mamma,  can  people  get  sense  themselves  ? I 
thought  it  was  God  who  gave  us  whatever  sense  he  pleased, 
and  that  we  could  not  get  any  more  than  just  what  he  gave 
us !” 

“ Certainly,  my  love,”  said  Mrs.  Mowbray,  “you  are  so 
far  right  that  God  allots  to  each  of  us  a certain  portion  of 
sense,  but  he  leaves  us  to  improve  it  or  not,  as  we  please, 
ourselves ; and,  therefore,  we  find  that  it  is  not  always 
those  who  are  naturally  the  most  clever,  but  those  who 
anxiously  and  steadily  endeavour  to  improve  what  sense 
and  cleverness  God  has  given  them,  that  make  the  best 
appearance  in  the  world  as  men  and  women.” 

“And, mamma,”  said  Annette,  “could  dogs  improve  their 
own  sense,  and  grow  wiser  by  trying  ?” 

“ No,  my  love,  they  cannot,  because  they  are  incapable 
of  reasoning,  and  they  are  not  gifted  with  the  power  of 
speech  by  which  we  improve  each  other.” 

“ But,  mamma,  have  not  dogs  and  other  beasts  a way 
of  speaking  to  each  other  ?” 

“ Yes,  my  dear,  they  have  ways  of  expressing  to  each 
other  their  wants  and  wishes  : — but  I never  heard  of  any 


A MOTHER’S  OFFERING. 


147 


beast  or  bird  turning  school-master  and  teaching  the  rest.” 
Annette  laughed  and  said,  “ no,  mamma,  except  in 
iEsop’s  Fables  : — but,  mamma,  tell  me  this,  have  all  beasts 
the  power  of  understanding  every  other  beast;  or  is  it  only 
their  own  kind  they  understand  ? I mean,  could  a dog 
understand  a cat’s  language,  or  a cow  a horse’s  ?” 

“ That  is  a question,”  said  her  mamma,  “ I cannot  exact- 
ly answer,  my  dear,  whether  universally  they  understand 
each  other  or  not ; but  I shall  tell  you  an  anecdote  that 
shows  dogs  and  cats  sometimes  can  make  each  other  com- 
prehend their  wishes  and  intentions.  There  was  a friend 
of  mine  near  Stirling,  who  had  a dog  and  cat  who  lived  in 
great  peace  and  friendship  together; — much  about  the 
same  time  the  dog  had  a son  and  the  cat  a daughter,  and 
these  two  little  gentry  grew  up  together  and  were  very  fond 
of  each  other.  There  was  a nice  back-green  to  the  house, 
where  they  used  to  play  together,  and  when  they  were 
wearied,  they  would  go  to  sleep  in  each  other’s  arms. 
When  they  were  about  three  months  old,  they  were  sent 
away  as  a present  to  a person  in  Edinburgh, — the  two  lit- 
tle things  were  put  into  a basket  together  and  covered 
over  so  that  they  could  not  see  : there  was  some  meat  put 
in  with  them,  and  thus  provided,  they  were  mounted  on  a 


148 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


carrier’s  cart,  and  trundled  away  a long  road — thirty  miles 
and  more.” 

“ I think,  mamma,  they  must  have  had  a very  uncomfort- 
able journey,” — interrupted  Annette. 

“ I don’t  doubt  it,  my  dear,”  said  her  mamma,  “ but  little 
dogs  and  cats  must  just  endure,  like  their  betters  in  this 
world,  to  be  uncomfortable  sometimes  ! When  they  ar- 
rived in  Edinburgh  they  were  very  happy  to  get  out  of  the 
basket,  and  get  a drink,  and  then  a sleep  ; but  next  day 
when  they  began  to  go  looking  about  their  new  habitation, 
they  did  not  like  it  at  all.  Edinburgh  is  a very  fine  beau- 
tiful city,  but  little  miss  and  master  disliked  it  exceedingly 
— they  were  not  allowed  to  go  out,  and  when  they  looked 
out  at  the  windows,  the  noise  and  strange  sights  they  saw 
in  the  streets  terrified  them  : — then,  from  being  strangers, 
they  committed  many  little  offences,  for  which  they  were 
whipped;  in  short,  they  became  quite  miserable.  So,  one 
evening,  a few  days  after  their  arrival,  when  the  street  was 
quiet,  they  slipped  out  at  the  door  when  no  one  was  noticing. 
How  they  told  each  other  their  plan,  or  how  they  found 
their  wray,  I cannot  tell  you  ; — but  two  days  after  they  left 
that  house,  they  arrived  at  their  former  home  in  Stir- 
ling— very  much  worn  out  with  fatigue  and  want  of  food.” 


A mother’s  offering. 


149 


“Ah,  mamma, — poor  little  things  !— I could  cry  for  them!” 
— said  Annette  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 

“ All  the  way  along,  the  little  dog,  who  was  the  biggest 
and  strongest,  defended  the  little  cat.” 

“ But,  mamma,  how  was  that  known,  did  any  body  see 
them  ?” 

“Yes,  my  love,  a gentleman  from  Stirling  was  riding 
along  that  road,  and  at  a very  lonely  part  of  it,  where  there 
were  no  houses,  he  was  surprised  to  observe  a very  small 
cat  running  along  : — his  dog,  which  was  with  him,  saw  it 
too,  and  flew  at  it,  but  immediately  a little  dog  sprung  out 
from  the  hedge-side,  and  drove  off  his  dog,  and  then  ran 
on  with  the  cat  in  the  opposite  direction  to  that  the  gentle- 
man was  going.  On  his  return  to  Stirling  he  heard  of  the 
extraordinary  feat  of  the  two  little  creatures  coming  back, 
and  went  to  see  if  they  were  the  same  he  had  observed  on 
the  road.” 

“ And  were  they  the  same  ?”  said  Annette. 

“ Yes,  my  love  ; he  said  they  were.” 

“ How  very  strange  it  was,  mamma, — it  was  just  as  if 
the  little  dog  had  thought  the  cat  was  his  little  sister,  and 
would  not  let  any  one  hurt  her  ! I think,  mamma,  it  must 


150 


THE  infant’s  annual;  or, 


have  been  him  that  found  the  road,  for  cats,  you  know,  are 
not  near  so  wise  as  dogs.” 

“ In  most  respects  they  do  show  less  sagacity  than  dogs ; 
but  in  that  of  finding  their  way  back  to  places  to  which 
they  are  attached,  they  are  not  surpassed  by  any.  I knew 
a cat  sent  away  in  a ship,  which,  when  it  had  gone  about 
nine  miles  down  the  river,  cast  anchor  for  the  night.  The 
sailors  knew  that  puss  was  on  board  when  they  went  to 
bed,  but  in  the  morning  she  was  no  where  to  be  found ; and 
they  concluded,  that  not  being  well  used  to  walk  about  in 
a ship,  she  had  missed  her  footing,  and  been  drowned;  and 
some  even  said,  they  heard  the  plash  in  the  night-time. 
Mrs.  Puss  had  gone  over  board,  sure  enough,  but  with  her 
own  will ; — she  must  have  swam  ashore,  a distance  of  a 
mile,  and  then  ran  nine  miles  home,  where  she  arrived, 
quite  composed,  in  good  time  for  breakfast  next  meaning.” 

“ But,  mamma,”  said  Annette,  “ I thought  cats  had  a 
great  dislike  to  water,  and  were  very  frightened  to  go 
into  it.” 

“ So  they  do  dislike  water  exceedingly,”  said  her  mam- 
ma ; “ and  the  poor  animal  overcoming  her  natural  dread 
of  it,  so  far  as  to  throw  herself  into  the  sea,  shows  how 
very  strong  her  attachment  to  home  must  have  been.  I 


A MOTHER’S  OFFERING. 


151 


remember  another  cat,  which  belonged  to  a lady  who  died 
in  a house  where  I lived.  The  poor  animal  was  so  at- 
tached to  the  place,  that  wherever  she  was  taken,  she  al- 
ways came  back  to  it.  At  last  she  was  given  to  a ship 
master,  who  took  her  to  Liverpool  in  England,  and  gave 
her  as  a present  to  a person  there.  On  his  arrival  back  in 
this  country,  he  was  astonished  to  hear  that,  a day  or  two 
before,  the  cat  had  re-appeared  at  her  old  quarters.  He 
declared  that  it  could  be  nothing  but  witchcraft  that  brought 
her  back  ! as  he  had  desired  the  people  not  to  let  her  go  at 
large  till  they  were  sure  he  had  sailed, — and  for  witchcraft 
it  might  ever  more  have  passed,  had  another  shipmaster, 
who  heard  of  the  circumstance,  not  told,  that  that  cat  came 
on  board  of  his  ship  at  Liverpool,  and  came  home  in  it, 
but  that  she  disappeared  as  soon  as  they  got  into  port  here  ; 
for  though  his  ship  was  a few  days  later  of  leaving,  she  was 
first  here.” 

“ And  how  did  they  know  it  was  the  same  cat  mamma  ? 
—perhaps  it  was  another.” 

“ No,  my  love,  it  was  the  same  ; she  was  a very  pretty 
cat,  and  had  only  one  ear.  I suppose  she  had  lost  the 
other  in  a battle  ; for  you  know  cats  are  very  quarrelsome 
with  each  other.” 


152 


the  infant’s  annual;  or. 


“ Are  any  other  beasts  possessed  of  so  much  wisdom 
as  dogs,  mamma  ?” 

“ Wisdom,  my  dear,  is  not  a proper  word  to  apply  to  a 
beast.  Wisdom  is  the  highest  attainment  of  the  human 
mind, — sagacity  that  of  a beast.  The  horse  and  the  ele- 
phant are  very  remarkable  for  their  sagacity,  and  you  will 
find  some  very  curious  stories  of  them  in  Trimmer’s  book.” 

“ Is  not  the  cow  a stupid  beast,  mamma  ?” 

“ It  is  generally  thought  so  : and  yet  I shall  tell  you  an 
anecdote  that  showed  both  great  memory  and  cunning  in  a 
cow\  When  this  poor  cow  had  her  first  calf,  it  was  imme- 
diately taken  away  from  her,  and  she  was  excessively 
grieved  at  that,  and  would  not  eat  her  food  for  several 
days.” 

“ Why  did  the  cruel  people  take  her  little  calf  from  her, 
mamma  ?” 

“ Because  when  cows  are  allowed  to  have  their  calves, 
they  will  not  give  so  much  milk ; and  therefore  the 
farmers  take  them  away  as  soon  as  possible.  After 
awhile,  this  poor  cow  appeared  to  forget  her  calf  and 
her  grief.  The  following  year  she  had  another  calf. 
The  people  to  whom  she  belonged  wrere  quite  sure  she 
had  had  a calf,  but  not  a bit  of  it  could  they  find  ! She 


A MOTHER’S  OFFERING. 


153 


was  feeding  in  an  enclosed  field,  every  corner  of  which 
was  sought,  but  no  calf  was  found : she  never  was  missed 
out  of  the  field, — but  still  the  small  quantity  of  milk  she 
gave,  showed  she  had  a calf  somewhere.  After  this  had 
gone  on  for  nearly  two  weeks,  the  people  determined  to 
watch  her  a whole  day,  and  see  what  she  did.  She  fed 
away  quite  quietly,  as  if  she  was  thinking  of  nothing  but 
the  grass  she  was  eating ; but  always  came  nearer  and 
nearer  to  one  side  of  the  field,  where  it  was  joined  on  the 
other  side  of  the  hedge  by  a piece  of  rocky  ground,  cover- 
ed with  trees  and  bushes.  She  looked  all  around,  and  see- 
ing nobody — for  the  man  who  watched  her  was  hid  behind 
a tree — she  squeezed  herself  through  a very  small  open- 
ing in  the  hedge,  that  did  not  seem  as  if  any  thing  so  large 
could  possibly  have  gone  through  it.  She  then  went  down 
among  the  rocks — the  man  followed  her,  creeping  on  his 
hands  and  knees, — till  she  came  to  a part  where  she  stood 
still,  and  once  more  looked  all  around  her,  as  if  to  see 
whether  any  one  was  near.  She  then  stamped  with  her 
feet  several  times  on  the  ground,  and  a little  calf  came 
running  out  of  a sly  corner  under  a rock,  where  it  was  quite 
hid  with  bushes.  The  cow  seemed  very  glad  to  see  the 
calf,  and  it  jumped  and  capered  about ; she  suckled  it, 


154 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL;  OR, 


licking  and  fondling  it  all  the  while,  and  as  soon  as  it  had 
got  as  much  milk  as  it  wanted,  she  appeared  to  order  it 
away  back  to  its  bed,  for  the  man  saw  it  go  back  to  the 
place  it  came  out  of ; and  the  cow  then  returned  to  the 
field,  and  the  instant  she  had  squeezed  herself  back  through 
the  hedge,  she  began  to  eat  as  if  she  had  not  been  doing 
any  thing  at  all !” 

“ But  I hope,  mamma,”  exclaimed  Annette,  “ that  those 
cruel  people  did  not  take  away  her  poor  little  calf  ?” 

“No,  my  love,”  said  Mrs.  Mowbray,  “they  were  so 
much  struck  with  the  attachment  the  poor  cow  showed  to 
its  young  one,  and  the  plan  she  had  fallen  on  to  save  its 
life,  that  they  brought  it  up  to  the  field  and  allowed  her  to 
keep  it.” 

“ Oh,  I am  glad,  glad  of  that,  mamma,”  said  Annette. 
“ Now,  mamma,  tell  me  this,  have  sheep  much  sense  ? — 
do  you  know  any  sheep  stories,  mamma  ?” 

“ Yes,  I know  a good  many  anecdotes  of  uncommon  sa- 
gacity in  sheep,  with  regard  to  the  safety  of  their  lambs, 
but  in  other  respects  they  are  rather  stupid  animals.  Not 
long  ago,  your  uncle  was  riding  along  a very  wild  and 
lonely  road  in  the  Highlands,  and  all  at  once  he  saw  a 
sheep  come  running  very  fast  down  a hill,  as  if  it  were 


A mother’s  offering. 


155 


coming  to  him  ; it  kept  bleating  very  loud,  and  when  it  had 
got  close  to  your  uncle,  it  looked  first  in  his  face  and  then 
up  the  hill,  uttering  the  most  pitiful  cries;  your  uncle  rode 
on,  but  it  ran  by  the  side  of  his  horse,  bleating,  and  show- 
ing that  it  wanted  him  to  go  with  it ; — at  last  his  pity  was 
so  moved  that  he  dismounted  and  tied  his  horse  to  a tree ; 
as  soon  as  the  sheep  saw  that  he  was  going  with  it,  it 
showed  the  utmost  joy,  and  ran  on  before  him  up  the  hill, 
stopping  and  looking  round  every  now  and  then  to  see  if 
he  was  coming.  When  they  reached  the  top  of  the  hill, 
it  ran  towards  some  rocks,  and  standing  still  cried  more 
pitiful  than  ever ; your  uncle  then  perceived  that  in  a cleft 
of  the  rock  there  was  a poor  little  lamb  sticking  so  fast 
that  it  could  not  move.  It  had  fallen  in  backwards,  and 
was  lying  in  the  hole  with  all  its  four  legs  sticking  up,  and 
here  the  poor  little  thing  must  have  died,  had  its  mother 
not  come  to  your  uncle  for  help.  He  lifted  it  out,  and 
placed  it  on  its  legs ; it  shook  itself  and  began  to  skip 
about.  The  joy  of  its  mother  was  most  unbounded  ; she 
jumped  and  capered  about,  and  licked  her  lamb,  and  then 
your  uncle’s  hands,  to  express  her  thankfulness,  and  fol- 
lowed him  with  her  lamb  a good  way  down  the  hill,  bleat- 


156 


THE  infant’s  annual,  or; 


ing  in  a very  different  tone  from  what  she  had  done  when 
first  coming  to  him.” 

“ Oh,  mamma,”  said  Annette,  “ how  glad  I am  my  dear 
uncle  went  with  the  poor  sheep, — -was  he  not  glad  he  had 
done  it  ?” 

“ Yes,  my  love,”  said  her  mamma,  “ I am  sure  he  was ; 
for  your  uncle  is  very  kind-hearted,  and  God  has  attached 
a rich  reward  of  happy  feelings  to  the  performance  of  even 
the  most  trifling  acts  of  kindness,  done  even  to  the  brute 
creation,  and  far  more  to  immortal  creatures ; and  we 
know  that  he  looks  with  approbation  on  every  such  ac- 
tion, and  on  the  heart  that  wishes  to  perform  them,  and 
will  reward  that  heart  in  his  own  good  time ; we  should 
try  to  think  more  about  this,  and  less  about  what  gra- 
titude we  receive  from  those  to  whom  we  have  been  kind. 
They  may  forget  that  we  have  been  kind  to  them,  but  God 
will  not  forget  it,  if  he  sees  in  our  hearts  that  we  wrere  so 
from  pure  and  good  motives,  and  not  from  mere  vanity  or 
selfishness ; and  how  happy  must  they  be  on  whose  actions 
God  looks  with  approbation  !” 

Annette’s  sewing-hour  was  now  done,  she  kissed  her 
mamma,  and  thanked  her  for  such  nice  stories.  And  if  my 


A mother’s  offering, 


157 


little  readers  are  so  well  pleased  with  this  first  “ Infant’s 
Annual”  as  to  wish  for  another,  they  shall  next  year,  or 
perhaps  sooner,  have  more  of  Annette’s  conversations  with 
her  mamma;  and  perhaps  in  the  mean  time,  their  own 
papas  or  mammas  may  tell  them  some  “ Anecdotes  of  Dogs 
and  other  Animals.” 


158 


THE  INFANT’S  ANNUAL. 


LITTLE  MARGARET’S  LULLABY. 

Where  should  a baby  rest ! 

Where  but  on  its  mother’s  arm — 

Where  can  a baby  lie 

Half  so  safe  from  every  harm ! 

Lulla,  lulla  lullaby, 

Softly  sleep  my  baby ; 

Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby, 

Soft,  soft,  my  baby. 

Nestle  there,  my  lovely  one  ! 

Press  to  mine  thy  velvet  cheek ; 
Sweetly  coo,  and  smile,  and  look, 

All  the  love  thou  canst  not  speak. 
Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby, 

Softly  sleep  my  baby ; 

Lulla,  lulla,  lullaby, 

Soft,  soft,  my  baby. 


CONTENTS. 


The  Mowbray  Family  - 

Page 

1 

A Mother’s  Evening  Hymn 

24 

Poor  Bessie  - - 

25 

The  First  Lie 

31 

My  Own  Infancy  - 

57 

The  Frosty  Day  - 

72 

Little  Margaret  - 

79 

Little  Margaret’s  Hymn  - 

87 

Presence  of  Mind  - 

88 

My  Brothers  and  Sisters  - 

95 

Anecdotes  of  Dogs  and  other  Animals 

- 132 

Little  Margaret’s  Lullaby  - 

- 158 

LIST  OF  EMBELLISHMENTS. 


1 . Annette  and  her  Dove. 

2.  Vignette  Title  of  Annette  and  her  Mamma. 

3.  Annette  saved  from  the  Mad  Dog  by  Poor  Bessie. 

4.  The  Boys  in  the  Play-ground  robbing  Charles  of  his 

Playthings. 

5.  Charles  shown  his  own  Name  on  the  back  of  the 

Watch,  by  his  Father. 

6.  The  Brother  and  Sister  found  dead  in  the  Snow. 

7.  Little  Margaret  giving  her  Grandpapa  his  Shoe. 

8.  The  Milk  spilt  on  Nurse  Jeffries’  Gown. 

9.  It  was  my  Aunt  Mary. 

10.  Oscar  playing  with  his  Kittens. 


03?=*  Classic  Tales,  a new  and  interesting  Juvenile  Work, 
by  the  author  of  “ Popular  Lessons”  is  in  Press. 


